


Romeo and Cinderella

by allechant



Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Religion, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:43:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8196451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allechant/pseuds/allechant
Summary: She just wants to escape. He just wants to forget. Maybe...maybe they could help each other? Inspired by the song 'Romeo and Cinderella', but has absolutely nothing to do with the lyrics.





	1. Chapter 1

One day, she would get out of here. All of them would look at her with wonder and awe in their eyes, and regret everything they had done to her for they were now out of her favour. One day.

Until then, she was stuck here, but she wouldn't allow simple physical confinement to prevent her from devising a plan. She knew she was smart – she would think herself more intelligent than her stepsisters were – and she was quite certain that this plan of hers should work. Well, technically, it should work. It was all up to fate and destiny whether she caught the prince's eye, but if she really managed to win his attentions, then she had a clear ticket out of here. Elated, she giggled to herself.

"As always, you behave like a lunatic," her older stepsister snapped at her, brown eyes narrowed. "Why can't you be normal and quiet for once, like a proper servant? And help me arrange the clothes in my wardrobe," she added as an afterthought, "I need to prepare for the ball tomorrow night, and it would be much easier if I could see everything arranged nicely. What, why are you glaring at me?" her voice sharpened. "Are you seeking punishment, _Cinderella_?" she sneered.

She forced a saintly sweet smile upon her face. "No, of course not, I wouldn't dare," she simpered, turning away from the gloating girl before the smile was instantly wiped away from her face. How dare she talk down to her as though she was nothing, as though she was her lowly servant – even going so far as to order her to arrange her wardrobe! What were the other servants for?

If their mother had not married her own father after her dear mother died, then they wouldn't even be in her home, leeching off their wealth – her father was no longer around to keep an eye on them, and the sisters did as they pleased. Their mother, and now her stepmother, rarely interfered in their activities, and so the sisters practically had free rein of the house. If their families had not become legally bound together, the sisters would still be living in the gutters, while she would be free.

She knew they were just jealous of her, jealous that she had a pampered life the whole time she was growing up whereas they were poor, and had married into the aristocracy. It was why they locked her away in the mansion, _her_ mansion, and forced her to sleep in the attic. All day, she was meant to cook and clean and garden, though her saving grace was that she never had to do all the heavy chores – they had other servants for that. No, she was only a symbolic servant they gloated over. She only had to attend to them personally, but it was more than enough for her wounded pride.

She was not even allowed out of the gates. The most she saw, nowadays, was when she was out in the gardens and she could see the carriages driving past, far out at the main road. She wished she could leave the place and see the world, because ever since she was twelve all she saw were these four walls and the sprawling gardens. She saw nothing else, was not allowed to exist outside of this gated community. Leaving here was her only true wish; she desired only that, and nothing else.

The wet cloth she held in her hands wiped over the already polished, clean surface of the wardrobe. She could see her reflection in the dark mahogany – green eyes, narrowed and intent, and long, teal hair, done up in two pigtails. She hated this hairstyle for it made her think of a child, but her darling stepsisters insisted that she keep her hair in this do, probably just so they could mock her. They liked to pull on her long pigtails for added emphasis when they spoke, and she had long gotten used to the pain.

"Anastasia!" came the high-pitched wail of the younger stepsister as she burst into the older one's room, looking distressed, her hair in complete disarray around her face. "I can't decide what to wear to the ball tomorrow, and my hair – my hair is a disaster, I couldn't possibly leave the house looking like this. I need to win the prince's heart. I must be the princess of this kingdom!" she insisted.

Anastasia didn't even look up from her crocheting. "You have come to the wrong person, Lucinda, and you know it," she said primly. She hated that prim, proper way of speaking Anastasia had – it seemed too forced and artificial. "You should ask Mother for help, she's probably hiding in her room again, crying or the like," she said dismissively. "Or…you could ask our dear stepsister," her voice became sly, and she could practically feel Lucinda's stare boring into her as the younger girl turned to face her, finally deigning to acknowledge her existence. She pretended she was not listening.

" _Her?_ " Lucinda sounded disgusted, but she was none too pleased to be associated with the little brat, either. Anastasia was older, bossier and haughtier, but at the very least she was not an obnoxious little fifteen-year-old who thought that the world revolved around her and whined the very first instance she did not get what she wanted. Lucinda was the very definition of a brat – it was only in terms of her impression of Lucinda that she was similar to the older stepsister. "I don't want to be touched by her. She would probably ruin my hair, or cut holes in my dress out of sheer spite."

Lucinda was not wrong in thinking that. If she could get away with such behaviour, she most definitely would, but the knowledge that she would be punished kept her in check. Nevertheless, fantasising about dashing Lucinda's self-absorbed dreams of being the princess kept her entertained. "You know hairstyles and fashion are not really my forte. I am only interested in crocheting, knitting and needlework," Anastasia's tone was heavy with irony, as this was the exact same phrase Lucinda had used to describe her sister just days ago. "So I'm afraid I cannot help you, Lucinda. Now get out."

Lucinda glared at her older sister for a while, who just peacefully continued to crochet, before she shot her a displeased look and beckoned to her to leave the room with her. She knew she had no choice but to leave, for if she chose to ignore the younger stepsister she would no doubt kick up a gigantic fuss, so she left the damp cloth on top of Anastasia's wardrobe and followed the bratty child.

Lucinda's room was a little distance away from Anastasia's, and as different from Anastasia's as it could possibly be. Anastasia's room was a fuss to clean because of all the fancy embroidery and knits she kept everywhere. Lucinda's room, on the other hand, had few such embellishments – all she had were the lacy, flowery curtains that came with every room other than her attic, and the heavy, floral carpet that covered the floor. Other than that, there was a bed, a dresser and a wardrobe, and little else. However, she knew perfectly well where the mess in Lucinda's room was kept, and sighed in resignation.

The brat opened her wardrobe, and instantly about eight dresses, some formal and some not, slid out of the wardrobe into a heap on the carpet. Lucinda screamed in horror as some of her precious dresses touched the floor, and started demanding that she pick up all the dresses _at once_ and arrange them properly and neatly in her wardrobe for her. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but did as Lucinda told her, for fear that she would have to put up with a hysterical fit if she did not.

"I want to wear something frilly, and perhaps pink or white," Lucinda was now saying as she picked up yet another heavy ballroom dress, made of taffeta and silk and entirely too decadent for a girl like Lucinda, who did not know how to truly appreciate such finery. "The prince shall be utterly charmed by me, and he will have eyes for me alone! And we will fall in love and live happily ever after," she said dreamily, her hands clasped together. "So you must not ruin anything for me," she suddenly snapped back into reality, voice hardening as she shot her a glare. "I will never forgive you if so."

"I would suggest that perhaps you do not try to overwhelm the prince with your gift of the gab if you wish to make a good first impression," she said, semi-sarcastically. "Men generally prefer a woman to be demure and…quiet," she let the word linger in the air between them, while Lucinda stared at her with an expression of affront on her face. She knew she might regret what she said later when Lucinda ran screaming to Anastasia about how disrespectful she was as a servant, but she honestly could not care. Girls like Lucinda were like… _vermin_. They would simply never stop irritating people.

"Well, at least I would get to meet the prince, whereas _you_ are cooped up here, never able to meet someone as darling as him!" the brat fumed, finally regaining her voice. "It's because you're utterly filthy, just like what we call you – _Cinderella_. I bet you don't even remember your real name anymore because you don't deserve a real name. You're all ashes and dirt, and you're worthless!"

She whipped around, glaring at the redhead, who suddenly flinched back – rarely had she allowed her temper to show before the stepsisters, but she was tired of putting up with this nonsense. She had been putting up with Lucinda's temper tantrums and insults for an entire week already, ever since the household received notice of the prince's ball, hosted for his birthday. Even she, with her fear of punishment, had her limits, and Lucinda had finally crossed those boundaries. "Yes, I do remember my real name," she said evenly, though her gaze was filled with bitter poison. "My name is Hatsune Miku, not Cinderella. And one day, you little brat, I will regain my fortune. Your luxuries are a result of _my_ family's wealth, do not forget that, and even if I am in this state now because of your interference, at the very least I was never a pathetic little street urchin like you," she spat.

Lucinda paled. She looked like she was mortally wounded, her hand placed exaggeratedly over her heart, before she flounced out of the room and ran, no doubt, to Anastasia. Miku rolled her eyes, already knowing she would tattle, and that she would no doubt be punished for her insolence, but it felt good to tell Lucinda to her face that she was an annoyance. She left the rest of Lucinda's dresses on the floor and went back up to her room, deciding to hide there as long as she could before she was found and dragged to the cold, dank cellar for her punishment. She hated the cellar.

But at the very least, this time she had the bright memory of shutting Lucinda up to tide her through the cold, the dust, and the very hopelessness and despair that came with being shut alone in the dark.

* * *

"Romeo died to be with Juliet," he said flatly, sipping from a glass of wine he held in his hand. "And quite unfortunately, I am not dead, so I'm afraid that I am unworthy of that nickname. Stop referring to me as that," he was facing away from his adoptive father, the king. The king sighed wearily.

"You know I'm not the one who calls you that. Everyone else in the kingdom decided that was an apt nickname ever since tales of your attempted suicide over the death of a girl spread here from the neighbouring town. Perhaps, if you did not want this nickname, you should not have tried to kill yourself," the king said, his voice heavy with irony. The prince did not rise to the bait, still looking out of the window. The hedges needed trimming, he decided. He would tell the gardener later.

"Perhaps, then, I should not have been saved," he said simply, and the king did not respond to that. He swirled the deep burgundy liquid in his glass, looking at his reflection – sharp blue eyes framed in a pale, angular face, with high cheekbones and a furrowed brow. A contemplating angel, he would be described. People called him beautiful. He didn't know whether to take that as a compliment or as a burden. He would rather not be known as handsome, for what use was beauty in the world, really?

"Is it necessary that I host this ball?" he added, the main reason why he came to seek an audience with his father to begin with. "I am not interested in meeting new people, and would rather just celebrate my birthday with the people in the castle, the servants who I already know well. Why must you always force me into awkward social situations, Your Majesty?" the last two words sounded forced, because he was still unused to referring to his father as the king. Even after all these long months, these years, it was still strange to him. To think that he was a prince now…

"Because I am tired of you pining, and I want to establish a bloodline for the throne before we get caught up in politics once more," the king answered calmly, almost placidly, though the prince had already asked the same question at least five times before. "Go to the ball, meet someone you can at least tolerate for longer than five minutes, then have a heir. Is that really so difficult for you?"

At this point, he did turn around, sending his adopted father a look. The king simply smiled, his eyes closing. "Well, it's also time for you to move on. How long has it been…three years already, isn't it?" the prince did not answer, so he took his silence as an affirmative. "You do not have to do this out of love. It's just…a duty. Duty to your bloodline, the throne and your country. That is what a prince does. A prince, above all, honours his country. This is what you must do to continue the royal bloodline, and prevent the messy, bloody struggle that came with an uncertain throne a decade ago."

Suddenly, the prince laughed. "You know, speaking of politics," he took another quick drink, the wine dark as poison, "back during the turmoil, I was already _this_ close to becoming the prince," he held his thumb and index finger together, indicating just how close it was. "It was only because you won that I ended up here, though. Funny thing, isn't it, fate? Makes you wonder what sort of bad luck it will decide to throw at you next. Good people never have any luck," he laughed bitterly.

The king merely gazed steadily at the prince, who stared back with a firm, if challenging, resolve. He knew the moment he chose this boy to be his adopted son that he might one day regret his decision. He might one day wish that he abandoned him on the streets, left him to die – for he was a total, complete stranger, and he wasn't obliged to rescue a stranger. Yet, when he saw the boy, this young adolescent threatening to kill himself, somehow the blond haired youth with the desperate blue eyes reminded him of himself. That same desperation and passion, that same drive and fury he once possessed in his own youth – he couldn't let such fire just extinguish itself like that, could he?

"Some people would say it's due to luck that you're here, and say you have good fortune for you're still alive," he finally answered, and the prince flinched, dropping the glass of wine. The sparkling wineglass fell to the ground and shattered, the deep burgundy liquid within splattering over the carpet, a red stain spreading quickly over the scarlet and gold embroidered tapestry. The prince simply stared down at the stain, as he could not believe what he was seeing. Both of them just watched the stain spreading…it looked almost like blood to him. It brought back memories, of things he both had to but didn't want to remember – dead eyes, pale, cold, waterlogged skin, staring accusatorily at him, asking _why_ –

"Call for Gumi, ask her to come quickly and clean up the mess," his father ordered him. There were no guards present to carry this out, since he had asked for a private audience, and he was trusted enough to not be suspected of planning an assassination attempt. The kingship was still in turmoil, and the allegiances of people had yet to fully settle. Everyone who walked into the throne room was subject to doubt and suspicion, even him – especially him, he who was not related by blood to the throne. But then again, he, as the prince, had never before shown any sign of coveting the throne.

He did as he was ordered, walking away from the stain on the carpet to the grand, ornate doors that led to the throne room. He knocked once on the doors, and slowly the doors opened as the guards situated outside, on either side of the double doors, created the path for him to pass through. He beckoned to one of the guards outside, and the man leant towards him. "Yes, Your Highness?" he asked.

"Go and find Gumi, ask her to come here now. There's a mess she needs to clean up," the guard looked curious at the mention of a mess, but did as he commanded and went off to look for the head servant, who most likely was bustling around the second floor, ensuring that the other servants were cleaning the rooms enough to meet her very particular standards of cleanliness. When the guard was gone, he went back in, leaving the remaining guard to his station. His fingers trembled.

He could still taste the slight sourness of wine in his mouth, and suddenly, the liquor that had always been used as an escape seemed terribly foul. He wanted to spit, and rinse his mouth out with water to wash away the feelings of guilt and fear. "I've done as you asked me to," he told his father.

The king nodded, having gotten up from his throne. His robes were long and luxurious, snow-white fur trimming the finest silk, dyed in bright, commanding red. He wore no crown, for he needed no elaborate headpiece to show that he had power, that he was the ruler of the land. The crown was usually locked away in the highest part of the castle, along with the king's sceptre. "The stain will be difficult to wash out," he observed, "especially since the carpet is too big to remove and dry. Gumi will have a migraine scrubbing it clean, but I can't imagine her giving the job to another servant."

"Gumi would rather die than allow someone else to clean this room," he replied, and that was perfectly true. The head of the servants, Nakajima Gumi, was the king's personal attendant and did everything for him. She was the one who wrote letters and arranged his meetings – she was secretary, cook, cleaner and gardener all in one. Her twin brother, who also served in the royal household and was the prince's personal butler, often helped Gumi when she had too much work on her hands to finish alone. The Nakajima twins were perfectionists who terrorised the rest of the castle's servants with their high expectations and practically unrealistic standards.

Nevertheless, they were friendly. He found that they were a delight to talk to, both of them being fairly well-educated and capable of holding their own when it came to debate on arts and culture. He would not admit to anyone, however, that it was starting to get boring, always seeing and talking to the same faces every single day. "She is too attached to her job," the king snorted. "I should get her out a little more, so she can see that there is more to life than just…scrubbing floors and making desserts," he shook his head. "Which is exactly why the ball ought to go forward," he edged the conversation back to where they were earlier, and the prince let out a groan. "Holding this ball will keep the servants busy, and allow them to have a change of pace and scenery for once. You know that holding this ball will do _you_ some good, too. Put a little colour back in your face," he noted.

"Maybe I don't want colour in my face," he retorted snappishly. "I've always been paler than most, even compared to other aristocrats. And I don't want to talk to anyone now. All those women who come to the ball for my eighteenth birthday…" he shook his head. "What more are they after other than my status as royalty? I do not want to mingle with such social climbers. I will host the ball," he glanced at the king, expression hard, "but I know you want me to find a wife, and I will not do that at this ball," his voice rang with finality, and even the king did not wish to start up another argument.

"Very well, if that is your wish. But I fully expect you to have taken a bride, or at the very least, find someone to be interested in, by your twentieth birthday," the king said, just as sharply. "You should have found a fiancée years ago, after you recovered. Your refusal is one reason why these social climbers, as you call them, are flocking to you so. With or without a fiancée, I would have expected you to hold a ball anyway. Eighteen is a monumental year," the king walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder – a surprisingly fatherly move. He was rather taken aback by the gesture.

"I might not dislike them so much if they would all stop clinging on to me and simpering. It's annoying," he folded his arms, subtly nudging the king's hand off his shoulder. The king either did not notice what he did or simply ignored the gesture, letting his hand fall back to his side. "And they like to call me by this accursed nickname – ' _Prince Romeo, it is absolutely delightful to meet you'_ ," he mimicked the ladies, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "I hate that nickname. Do I really seem like a Romeo?" he asked the king, who shrugged, smiling a little. "I'm not a tragic, lovelorn hero. Just because I tried to…" the words wouldn't come out. He struggled to speak, then gave up.

Before the king could respond, there was a loud knock on the door, and suddenly Gumi, the head servant, burst into the throne room, her green hair tied in a perfectly neat bun as her sharp green eyes flashed at both of them. "Now, who created this mess?" she demanded instantly, pointing aggressively to the dark stain – it had finally stopped spreading, and was about the size of a dinner plate – that marred the otherwise grand carpet. Despite her tone of disrespect, the king and prince batted not an eyelid, for they knew that Gumi was good at her job, save for her one flaw – whenever something went wrong she would explode at the perpetrator without fail, disregarding utterly their status. Of course, she would apologise for her behaviour, but only after she calmed down.

"I did," he admitted, trying to inject some guilt into his voice. Gumi narrowed her eyes at him, then started to mutter things so quietly he could not hear her – probably something to do with the mess, his carelessness, and how much work it would take to get the stain completely out of the carpet. He did not know whether to laugh or remain silent, because this head servant was honestly the first person he had ever seen – her twin brother being the second – who was so… _fussy_ about tidiness.

"I have asked you before time and time again, Your Highness," she said, sounding imploring, as one of the other servants came puffing and wheezing into the room, carrying a bucket full of cleaning supplies, "please do not drink wine in the throne room. Do you know how difficult it is to get wine out of wool? It took two entire weeks' worth of scrubbing the previous time. We beg you to make our lives a little easier," she continued, kneeling down on the carpet and grabbing a wet cloth from the bucket the other servant set down next to her. Gumi nodded at the servant, and the servant scampered out of the throne room, shooting the head servant a nervous look as he left.

"I'm very sorry, Gumi," he said, contrite, aware that the king was outright smirking beside him. The smirk was wiped off his face when Gumi looked up – it would not do well for the king's subjects to notice his amusement. The king was always expected to be strict, calm and rational, not easily amused by the sight of his adopted son being lectured by a castle servant. "I will be careful next time, I promise. If you can get the stain out perfectly, I'll give you permission to arrange for only carrot-themed dishes for a week," he promised, though the king now looked horrified. Gumi blinked, looking pleased at the prospect of a week full of carrots, but then quickly caught herself and frowned.

"Do not try to distract me, Your Highness!" she exclaimed, furiously scrubbing away at the dark stain. It didn't seem to be budging. "I will not be swayed from this topic just by the mention of my favourite food. There must not be a next time. This shall be the final time! We lowly servants are only here to serve your every comfort, but nevertheless there shall not be dirt or stains allowed in this castle – this is my vow, and I shall uphold it. Your Highness, I beseech you – please drink wine only in the dining room or your own room, where it is much easier to clean up any spillages."

"We'll see about that," he answered, shrugging and exchanging a look with the king. Gumi seemed to give up, knowing that to press the royal even further would be outright disrespect, not just plain, simple nagging. She went back to muttering under her breath, lips moving too quickly for him to decipher what she was saying, but he guessed it was nothing too good. Gumi had been a servant here for longer than his adoptive father was king – Gumi was born and raised in the castle, while the king had only been in power the last eight years. As a result, everyone had a certain respect for the head servant of the royal household, even the king himself. She knew things, she heard stories.

As he made to leave, deciding that he had done enough here and perhaps it was time for him to return to his room or to the stables, Gumi looked up from her scrubbing, her green hair starting to come a little out of her bun. Her face was red from exertion as her arms continued scrubbing away. "They say that you might find your true love at your ball, Prince Romeo – that maybe someone else will be your Juliet now. At least, that's the rumour around the castle," he froze at what she said, turning to look back at her. Gumi was staring at the king, who himself seemed to be rather curious about this particular rumour. "Probably started by one of the servant girls…but what do you think, Your Highness? Do you think that we might finally have the chance to serve a princess?"

"No," his answer was sharp and cold, and Gumi actually stopped scrubbing the carpet at the tone of his voice, uncertainty flitting across her expression. No one had ever heard him sound so brutal before, though it could not be denied that the prince was far from friendly. "No one would ever replace her. If the solution to my misery was simply to hold a ball, then another person would have entered my life ages ago, and I wouldn't be in this state now. There is no possible way to replace someone who has already _died_ ," he hissed, unable to help himself – it was not the servant's fault that he was so sensitive about this topic, but the very mention of his circumstances angered him.

"I…I'll let the servants know," she answered – calmly, he gave her credit for that, but he could see the shock in her green eyes at how strangely he was behaving. For all his faults and his moodiness, he rarely lost his temper so completely. "It'll be difficult to squash the rumours, though," she added, "the ladies who are coming tomorrow night are excited because of them. They all believe they might be the fated one, so to speak. After all, Your Highness, you're at a marriageable age."

He was already almost out of the door, one hand placed against the wooden surface. He paused when she said that word – _marriage_. It made him uneasy. "I don't want to marry, nor do I want to find a fiancée yet," he said shortly. "Father forced it upon me, but it doesn't mean I _will_ ," he shot his adopted father a meaningful glance. The king ignored him. "And…" his voice trailed off, and he remained silent for a while, to gather his thoughts. He could feel Gumi watching him, the sounds of her cleaning having paused for a moment. "I don't want to be known as Romeo anymore," he finally said. "I have a name. It's Kagamine Len. I'm not willing to take on the name of a dead lover, because it's not my right. You could call me suicidal, depressed, or even outright insane, but call me by my name, not by a tragic euphemism for the experiences I went through."

With that, he exited the room, the guards closing the double doors behind him. Gumi stared at the closed doors, her brow furrowed. "Is there something wrong with him today?" she asked the king, the man she was the most loyal to. He was a fair ruler, not cruel and hard-hearted like the previous king, and he treated all his staff with respect. She enjoyed working under him. "He normally is not like that. Moody he may be, but he rarely gets angry and expresses his opinions even less."

The king sighed, reaching down into the bucket and passing her another soap-laden cloth before she could protest against him participating in manual labour. "He's growing up," was all the king said. "Some people have to grow up before others, and when one is thrust into adulthood like he was…well, they change, which is only to be expected. Just that sometimes, the change isn't…always for the better."

He sounded wistful, deep blue eyes staring off into the distance as he stood over her. She knew better than to question him while he was reminiscing like this, so she just ducked her head and went back to her cleaning, secretly glad that as a servant, she had the ability to become invisible. Servants were meant to be seen but not heard. They did not have a presence, so for now, she hid hers.


	2. Chapter 2

The entire morning, and for most part of the afternoon as well, Anastasia and Lucinda were busily preparing for the ball, Lucinda having imperiously commanded her stepsister to assist her with her dressing up. She was threatened with punishment if she did not do her job, so she grudgingly agreed to help, though sometimes she wondered if the cellar would be a preferable alternative.

Miku was now braiding Lucinda's hair, purposely yanking as hard as she could whenever the opportunity arose. The girl yelped and whined whenever she pulled, telling her to be more gentle with her beautiful, gorgeous hair – which she might actually agree with, if it weren't for the fact that long periods of time spent in intricate dos had long ruined Lucinda's vivid red hair – and Miku sweetly explained that if she didn't pull, the style wouldn't be tight, and then it wouldn't be nice anymore. Always one to suffer for her beauty, Lucinda would fall silent, much to her pleasure.

What could be said about the younger stepsister was that she had a terrible sense of colour coordination. The gown she insisted on wearing today, a horribly garish, ruffled affair made of pink lace, silk and ribbons, clashed terribly with her bright hair. Unable to let such an atrocity pass, despite it being worn by Lucinda, Miku had suggested changing to a more muted, pale green gown, which was simpler and easier to walk in, and much more pleasant to look at. However, Lucinda stubbornly insisted on wearing the pink terror and even claimed that Miku was out to destroy her chances at happiness. Ultimately, she gave up and decided that there was no love lost between her and the brat – if she wanted to be the laughingstock of the ball, then she was free to go ahead.

"Oh, _Cinderella_ ," Anastasia's mocking voice floated through the door, and she cringed, absolutely hating the sound of the name. It was a little joke the stepsisters thought most funny – to nickname her, giving her the name of the servant in the fairy tale who dusted and cleaned and, just like her, had two terrible stepsisters and a stepmother. On the bright side though, Cinderella ended up finding her happiness and marrying a prince, which was something she intended to achieve as well.

"Yes?" she called in as respectful a tone as possible, resenting herself for sounding so meek and demure. She wished she could spit insults and fire at the girl, but held herself back – she would save her energy for tonight, where she would outshine the stepsisters and make them regret everything they ever did to her. Besides, for her plan to work, she needed to be able to get out of the house, and there was no way she could sneak out of the manor if she was locked _again_ in the dank cellar.

"Why did you pause?" Lucinda demanded, staring lovingly at herself in the mirror as Miku's fingers stopped weaving her hair, her attention diverted by Anastasia's call. "Don't let that old cow distract you," Lucinda snapped her fingers impatiently. Miku glanced back at the brat, her eyes narrowing in distaste. "Focus on me! I need to be the most beautiful woman the prince has ever seen so that he will fall instantly in love with me. I will be his new Juliet, and we shall be happy together," she sighed, in a world of her own. She thought that it would be almost brutal to shake Lucinda out of her imagination, since she knew it would never come true, so she just let the girl happily daydream.

Anastasia came into Lucinda's room then, looking as haughty and superior as she always did. Her hair was already swept up into an elegant bun, chestnut coloured hair shining with a soft sheen. She wore a periwinkle blue gown which fitted nicely at the bodice, cinching in at the waist, and flared out magnificently from her hips onwards, giving her the illusion of a figure for Miku knew that the girl was ridiculously straight and flat. Anastasia was much better at dressing up than Lucinda was, though Lucinda was the one who claimed to love fashion more, and she had to admit that Anastasia looked rather charming. It didn't hide the malicious intent that dripped from her, however.

Her searching gaze narrowed on Miku almost immediately. "Well, dear Cinderella," her lips curled into a sneer, "we are about to leave soon, in perhaps fifteen minutes. Hurry up with Lucinda and get her ready, the horses are readied for our departure already. Don't forget to get the house cleaned and tidied before we arrive. I do not want to see a single speck of dust on my dresser, or you'll be in the cellar for a whole week – and you'd best have supper prepared for our return, too. Lucinda," she added, turning her haughty gaze towards her sister, "you look utterly atrocious in that outfit. Do not tell anyone at the ball tonight that we are related…it would do nothing other than to shame me."

With that, Anastasia swept out of the room as quickly as she entered. The door had just barely closed behind her when Lucinda got into one of her temperamental fits, screaming about how Anastasia was just jealous of her beauty and how she was an old hag who would never be able to find a suitor. Miku sighed to herself and continued braiding the girl's hair – she was actually of the opinion that such an intricate hairstyle, the mass of braids and pins that Lucinda demanded, would clash terribly with her messy, complicated dress and make it look even more disastrous. However, with Lucinda in such a state already, she thought it would be better to just hold her tongue.

* * *

She stood at the door, watching the horses clop off with the carriage, carrying her two stepsisters and her stepmother. The carriage was heading up the hill towards the palace, which was located not too far away from here. The town houses of the aristocrats were all fairly close together, and they all nestled together within the shadows of the kingdom's large, imposing palace.

She waited until the carriage was so far away that if her stepsisters were to turn and look out, they would not even see her standing here anymore. Then she hurried back into the house to get ready her own outfit for the ball. She would attend, no matter what – she would be the one who made sure that the prince's heart was hers. It was not because she desired love or romance, nor was it because she wished for wealth and status. She had enough of fame, her family was well-to-do. And she did not want to tie herself down to the prince, because being royalty was not really something she wanted to think about. No, she simply wanted a way to get out of this manor for good.

Her stepsisters were the very bane of her existence, and she could stand them no longer. For six years of her life, she was treated as inferior, a pet dog among her owners. They sneered at her, mocked her to her face, tried to tear her down and make her forget she was a Hatsune – make her forget that she, as a Hatsune, had all right to her fortune, even if they were now part of her family too. But she would not forget. She hated them so much that her desire to reclaim her status and get her revenge was all she could think about every day. She had to get away from them to start fighting for her inheritance, and then they would suffer. She would see that they got kicked out into the streets, made to beg and suffer much the same way she did, once her father left her behind.

She didn't even particularly care for her fortune. She only wanted it back because it was _hers_ , and now Anastasia, Lucinda and her stepmother were abusing her property. She would get back what she rightfully deserved, and she would do so by leveraging off the royal family's power. The thought of escaping from the house, just running away to seek her fortune, had occurred to her before – but she knew, logically, that she would not get far. She did not have much money of her own. What was left of her inheritance was sentimental in value, and even if she could bring herself to sell it away, she knew she would not manage to earn much. And without money, how could she flee this place?

She could earn her passage across the oceans on a ship – a romantic notion were it not for the fact that this area was landlocked, and there was not a single large body of water in sight. She didn't know much about the surrounding area, only knowing vaguely the roads that led in and out of here, and maybe a handful of the surrounding towns, which were all quite a distance away. It would be a long, arduous journey on foot for a girl with little money, clothes, food or basic necessities of any sort. Her stepsisters would almost definitely find her before she got too far, and then she would be dragged home and punished severely for her disobedience. So she needed a better plan than just running away from home and trying to seek her fortune. She needed a way to definitely get out of the manor without the risk that she would be forcibly brought back home. But what plan could she devise?

The idea of using the royal family as a way to escape – for even Anastasia and Lucinda could not defy the will of royalty – came to mind when one morning, a week ago, she collected the morning post and found out that there would be a ball coming to celebrate the prince's birthday. The prince, the king's adopted son of three years, was currently still single and had no fiancée whatsoever. Many girls were trying to obtain his affections, and this ball would be the perfect opportunity for them. She quickly realised that it was an opportunity not just for them, but for her as well. The ball was open to anyone who wished to come, as long as they dressed and behaved appropriately, as was expected of the aristocracy. She had no problems with dressing up or manners, since she was a noble since birth after all. She just had to find a way to sneak to the ball and catch the prince's eye.

It didn't take her long to come up with a plan, and tonight, she excitedly brought the plan to fruition. Rushing back up to her attic room, she opened up her shabby little wardrobe – compared to Anastasia and Lucinda's huge, spacious closets, hers could only hang exactly five sets of the same drab, grey servant's uniform she wore – and carefully, she felt her way towards the very back of the wardrobe, which she had covered with pieces of cloth and ribbons left over from crafts Anastasia had started on but didn't bother to finish. She felt beneath the mass of softness, and her searching fingers found the edge of a hard, wooden box. She smiled in satisfaction, pulling the box out.

It was a medium-sized box, nothing very special about it. It was made of simple, varnished wood, usable and simple, but it was one of the boxes Miku's mother had used to store her dresses, and Miku treasured it very much. Sitting on her threadbare bed – she could feel a spring shifting underneath her weight – she slowly lifted the lid of the box, smiling down at the sight within.

Inside the box, there were exactly three dresses, three dresses she had managed to salvage from her father's self-destructive rampage after her mother died. Three dresses were perfect for her since the prince's eighteenth birthday was a grand occasion and to celebrate it, the ball would be held over the course of three nights. She definitely intended to go for every single night. She took out the very first dress, feeling the heavy, smooth weight of silk and tulle in her hands. She raised the fabric to her cheek, nuzzling against the dress, and a dreamy smile crossed her lips as she thought about the last time she saw this dress being worn. This was one of her mother's favourite dresses.

It was a pure white dress, very elegant and simple like her mother was. The bodice dipped in gracefully and the tulle flared out beautifully, creating a lovely figure even when the dress was unworn. There was a single silver rosebud at the bosom, and the slight train of the dress made it look like something out of a fairy tale. Her mother, when she wore this dress, looked every inch the regal fairy queen, and it was a sight which had inspired her to no end when she was a little girl. Now, she would be the fairy queen – she would be the one slipping into this lovely dress, and she would hold close the spirit of her dear mother as she wore it. She would remember her mother.

After helping Lucinda with her hair, Miku had bathed – she even used some of the bath oils which Lucinda kept in vast quantities in her bathroom cabinet, and now she felt so fresh she glowed. It had been a long time since she took a proper bath, and she figured that since she was meeting the prince tonight, it would be good to be clean, for once. She smelled faintly of lavender too, and she found that scent to be most pleasant. She had thought that the stepsisters would be gone after she took her bath, but apparently there was a delay Lucinda caused, and her stepsisters and stepmother only started to leave when Miku came out of Lucinda's bathing chamber, patting her long hair dry. She kept out of sight until they were already in the carriage, not wanting the sisters to notice that she had taken a bath and suspect that she was up to something. Then she watched them depart.

Her stepmother was the only person who even bothered to look at her before they left. She frowned – she was rather ambivalent regarding her feelings towards her stepmother, for the woman had never done anything to hurt or humiliate her. However, she never did anything to stop her daughters either, and the woman seemed to have no control whatsoever over Anastasia and Lucinda. It was almost as if she didn't exist. Her stepmother was rarely in the house, and when she was, she usually locked herself up in her room, so much that Miku sometimes couldn't quite recall what she looked like. The only thing that she ever remembered were her stepmother's green eyes, because she herself had green eyes too, while Anastasia and Lucinda did not. They had their father's brown eyes. It was a good thing though, because if the stepsisters shared her green eyes, Miku might be tempted to gouge her own eyes out so she would not share any similarities with the stepsisters.

Her stepmother liked to pretend that Miku did not exist, and she did the same thing back to her. As far as Miku was concerned, this manor contained only her, her two jailers, and a mysterious ghost who was always there yet, at the same time, not quite present. Even if she forgot everything about her stepmother, even the colour of her hair and skin, she would always recall those green eyes. Her father and mother had green eyes too. Maybe, since they shared the same eye colour, this was why she did not feel the same animosity towards her stepmother. That, along with the fact that she never did anything to hurt her. In fact, her stepmother was the one who asked Anastasia to allow Miku to visit the market to get groceries. It was Anastasia who had flatly denied the request.

She realised she was getting carried away by her thoughts and memories, and quickly tried on the silver dress she was holding. She had put it on before, just to see how it fit, and it fit her perfectly, but she didn't quite know how she actually looked in the dress since her attic lacked a mirror. She quickly hurried to Lucinda's room, which had a full-length mirror next to the wardrobe, grabbing a simple silver masquerade mask from underneath her creaky bed as she did so. The theme of the ball was masquerade, and she had quickly gotten ready three masks, to match her outfits each night. Anastasia and Lucinda had brought home plenty of masks from the market to wear to the ball, and she simply stole a few when they were not looking. Thankfully, neither of them noticed.

The mask she was now holding was silvery-white, a simple winged design that hid her eyes and revealed the rest of her face. There were three silver teardrop shaped crystals glued to the right corner of the mask. She quite liked it – she had noticed this mask, gleaming at her from the huge pile Anastasia and Lucinda brought back with them, and had taken it without a second thought. It would serve her purpose well tonight, and she thought it was so pretty that she might keep it even after the ball was over and its usefulness was exhausted. She was a rather sentimental person despite her snappishness, and she liked keeping little mementos of events. They served as her memories.

She could not move that quickly to Lucinda's room since she was not used to walking in such a long dress – for six years of her life, after all, she had donned the dreary garb of a servant. She was extremely impatient about seeing her appearance for the first time, so when she finally stepped inside Lucinda's room and stood before the mirror, looking at her reflection, she sighed in relief. It was everything she had hoped for, and more – in the mirror, she saw not a servant, bullied and oppressed by two stepsisters, but rather a beautiful girl who was preparing to attend a ball, her cheeks flushed a light pink with excitement, her lovely dress silvery like it was made of moonlight.

Miku knew she was beautiful. Her whole life she had been told she was a lovely little creature, and the older she grew, the more she blossomed. But even with the knowledge that she was beautiful, she could not help feeling distressed about her appearance since, true to her nickname, she was constantly covered in dirt and dust from cleaning the rooms and heeding the stepsisters' every call. She forgot what it was like to be clean and beautiful, since she was always told how ugly she was, how strange and odd her teal hair was, how she was a freak and how no man would ever want her. She knew it was untrue, but after six years of hearing this constantly, it was difficult to disbelieve.

But now, she had confirmation that her stepsisters were simply lying, because when she twirled in her dress and saw the beautiful girl in the mirror twirl along with her, she knew she was anything but ugly. This person was her. This girl in the gorgeous dress with the sparkling eyes and excited laughter and long, deep teal hair falling down to her waist was undoubtedly her, and she was stunning. She drew a deep breath, watching her reflection do the same, then exhaled. It was time to stop admiring herself, though she liked looking at her reflection, seeing how much a simple bath could change her. Now, she had to do her hair and makeup, and wear her jewellery, put on her mask, then leave.

She applied only very light makeup, just the slightest hint of pink on her cheeks and a brushing of powder across her forehead, so her forehead would not shine terribly if she happened to perspire. She did not want her face to draw attention away from the beauty of her gown, so she left the rest of her face free of makeup. Deciding to continue with the look of elegant simplicity, she wound her long hair up into a simple bun and left it at that. However, it seemed to be lacking a little something, so she rummaged around Lucinda's jewellery boxes and found the perfect hair accessory – a small silver butterfly hairpin. Happily, she pinned it in her hair, deciding that it looked quite lovely.

Her neck and fingers were left bare. She needed no ostentatious necklaces or rings, and Lucinda's preference for thick, elaborate gold bracelets would not be good for her thin wrists. Holding up her dress and hurrying back to the attic, this time she carefully stepped on her small, shabby stool and felt along the top of her wardrobe. As she expected, she found the small box – another treasure her mother had left her, the most perfect pair of dainty glass heels she had ever seen. It was not true glass, for glass would break – it was some kind of hard, transparent crystal with a clear finish that gave it the sparkle of glass. It fit her feet perfectly. She would be wearing this for all three nights.

She walked confidently and surely down the attic stairs – ever since she became aware of the ball, she had been practicing moving in heels at night, when everyone else was asleep. The constant practice was paying off since she was now able to balance enough to actually dance in these shoes. With these shoes, she was ready enough for the ball – she just had to get to the palace now, and there was no way she was going to walk up the hill, even if the manor was not very far away from where the ball was. She supposed she could always go to the nearest manor with a waiting coach.

Surely they would not turn away a girl in need. She would simply have to act helpless if they were uncertain about giving her a ride. Besides, she mused, she was lovely enough that people wouldn't just pass her by. Someone would, out of curiosity, no doubt agree to send her to the ball.

* * *

It had taken her four attempts. After leaving the manor, she walked over to the house opposite. However, they had many daughters, and their carriage was full. The second attempt led to a similar result, and the third one belonged to an old man who looked at her a little too strangely for her liking, so she politely declined his offer and, with rising desperation, looked for another carriage.

Finally, the fourth noble family only had one son and his mother attending the ball, so they gladly gave her a ride. She told them that her family was impatient and had set off without her while she was bathing, leading to her embarrassing solicitation of free carriage rides up to the palace. The son, who was a pleasant young man, told her that she would be free to join him for the next two nights if she wished, and for any time after the ball too if she wanted. She accepted his offer, tittering politely while his mother watched them, pleased, and promised to think about his other suggestion.

They reached the palace quickly, and he helped her down onto the grass. After he helped her down from the carriage, he kissed the back of her hand – he was one of the many nobles who resided near the palace – and said, if she wished for a dance partner, he would gladly be hers. Again, she simply said she would think about it, making no promises – he was a nice man, but the only person she wanted to attract tonight was the prince. The word of another noble family may not be enough to crush her stepsisters – through their mother, they were now part of her family, the Hatsunes, and her family was so prestigious that some time in the past, they were actually in line to the throne. However, for all their prestige, the stepsisters could not possibly defy the will of the prince.

She walked down the pathway towards the palace. The main doors were open, and guests were pouring in, an unending stream of people. The servants were there, giving directions and attending to the nobility as well. One of the servants, a girl with green hair combed back neatly into a bun and sharp green eyes, told her that the ballroom was down the main passage, followed by a turn to the right. "Just follow the gaggle of excited girls, and you'll know you're there," she added, clearly getting a little impatient with the noise though she strove to maintain her respectful demeanour. Hiding a smile, Miku nodded and set off, though with such a crowd to follow she hadn't really needed the directions.

The ballroom came into sight soon enough, the tall, imposing grand doors swung wide open for the guests. Music was coming out from the open doors, music she could hear even before she turned to the right – it was the harmony of an entire orchestra, and she smiled for they were playing one of her favourite ballroom pieces. She wished she could dance here, right now, but knew she had to meet the prince first before she started really enjoying herself. Miku liked to dance, dancing being one of the only activities as an aristocratic child she had really loved. The rest of her subjects, like playing the piano and learning languages and the arts and knitting and needlework – she learned them because she had no choice. But dancing, she threw herself into with delighted fervour.

She entered the ballroom. The place was festive – no one was dancing yet, since the prince had not led the dance, but there were couples chattering and groups talking to each other all over the room. To one side of the large, grand ballroom, a whole buffet was spread out, with delicious looking finger foods and snacks spread out in a colourful, delightful array. Servers were walking in between the guests, offering wine and other finger foods on silver platters. On the other end of the room, the orchestra played, the conductor passionate before them. Some curious guests were observing.

Miku tore her eyes away from the festivities, searching for the prince. She found him before long – she knew straightaway that the boy at the side of the room was the prince, not because she knew what he looked like because she had never seen him before tonight, but rather because of the long line of excited girls queueing up before him, clearly waiting to introduce themselves. She decided that there was no harm in introducing herself as well, so she went to join the queue.

As she crossed the ballroom, all eyes turned to her. She didn't miss the glances, but did not show any sign of noticing the curious, longing looks – the people whispering among themselves, wondering who she was. Of course they would wonder. Hatsune Miku had not been seen in society for six years. She actually wondered what people thought had happened to her sometimes, but this was the first time it hit her so truly – the knowledge that people had completely no idea who she was. What should she introduce herself as? She knew she could not call herself Hatsune Miku at this ball, since her stepsisters and stepmother were here. She panicked – so what should she call herself?

The queue, though long, moved surprisingly quickly, and by the time she was the next person to greet the prince, she still had not thought of a good name. Every name she thought of, she shot down – too mainstream, too generic, too bratty, too unbecoming of aristocracy. She could hear the girls before her chattering excitedly while she nervously brainstormed, talking about how charming the prince was, how handsome he was, how he seemed to linger with her a little longer – but no, he smiled at _her_ , she would have a chance – and another girl claiming that he almost kissed her. The air around her was feverish with excitement, yet she felt suddenly, strangely removed from it all. Because who was she? Who was the girl standing here, participating in these activities? What was her name?

She moved forward, and her gaze fell upon the prince. She had seen him earlier, when she came into the ballroom, but had not gotten a very clear glimpse since he was surrounded by so many girls at that time, plus he was standing a little too far for her to see him clearly. Now, she saw him, and she realised belatedly that true to what all the girls were saying, he was really very handsome. She was wondering if they were all exaggerating, for the girls she heard compared him to an angel, with his heavenly beauty – some said he had to be God's beloved, for no mere mortal was that beautiful. All mere exaggerations, she assumed – but he really was rather handsome, she could not deny that.

He seemed like the typical Prince Charming, with his flaxen hair and deep blue eyes. He had eyes like twin pools of water – one could not tell how deep they were, and if you tried to find out, you could very well fall into his eyes and drown. His blond hair was tied loosely into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. She looked away from his most noticeable features, the eyes and the hair, and looked at his face as a whole – or at least as whole as it could get, given that he was wearing a mask over the upper half of his face, much like everyone else attending the ball. He was remarkably stunning, with those slanted eyes she could just barely make out through the mask, and defined cheekbones, as well as those slightly too-pouty lips. He looked almost feminine, and she would have called him pretty rather than handsome were it not for the determined set of his jaw.

Well, that and the fact that even while she was in heels, he stood almost an entire head taller than her. Besides his height and the air of masculinity that surrounded him, he would look decidedly girly. "Good evening, Prince…Romeo," she realised belatedly as well that she did not know his name, and simply used the nickname that all the girls in front of her were calling him. "My name is…Cinderella, and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she curtseyed before him, secretly scolding herself for choosing such a name to introduce herself with. He was going to think she was playing a prank on him, and if he was not the kind to react well to a joke…this was not the impression she wanted to make. But she had been desperate, and simply latched onto the first name which came to mind.

When she looked up from her curtsey, the prince was staring at her with a look of disbelief on his face. "Are you playing me for a fool? Your name is _Cinderella_?" he asked. His voice was smooth like honey, and rather pleasant to listen to. She would have liked hearing his voice were it not for the words he was saying. "I suppose you thought it was funny that people call me Romeo. Perhaps claiming that you were Juliet would have had better effect," his lips curved into a small smile. She was not sure if he really found her funny or if he was simply mocking her. Probably the latter.

"My name really is Cinderella," she decided if she was going to lie, she would just lie all the way. "My parents had a penchant for fairy tales, and decided they would name their first daughter after their favourite storybook princess. I have long gotten used to people making fun of my name, so it is fine if you wish to laugh as well, Prince _Romeo_ ," she had not intended for her tone to become sarcastic. It was an automatic reaction – her way of defending herself whenever Anastasia mocked her or when Lucinda told her she was pathetic and useless. She looked down immediately, concerned. Would she be punished for her insolence? This was most definitely not the impression she wanted to make.

She felt fingers tilt her chin up, and she gasped, instinctively trying to flinch away. He did not let go, his narrowed eyes watching her carefully as he tilted her head from one side to the other. What he was looking for, she did not know, and was tempted to ask him to get his hands off her. She would have said so too, if her future did not hinge so desperately on this ridiculous plan she came up with. She had to make the prince fall in love with her. If she didn't, she would be stuck in the manor for a long, long time – not forever, but long enough to possibly drive her insane, and she didn't want that.

"Cinderella, you say?" the prince finally said, studying her intently. She was on the verge of panic, because it felt like an awfully long time had passed since she first came up to him to introduce herself. Usually, the queue moved quickly, but she had been standing here for quite a while, and she could hear discontented mutters starting up behind her. "I don't believe that's your real name for an instant, just as how you surely do not believe my name is Romeo," he let go of her, and she stepped back at once, an instinctive reaction. She resisted the urge to glare down at her feet, instead looking right back at him as he attempted to intimidate her – or at least, she assumed that was what he was doing, because why else would he keep staring at her this way? "If you tell me your real name, then I might tell you mine," he offered, much to her surprise. She stared at him, and he smiled back.

It was a real smile. She had not seen him smile like this at all while she queued. He did smile, and it was usually a very polite smile, one that was cordial and hid his true feelings. But for this smile, she could practically feel the amusement emanating from him in waves. Hastily, she shook her head, and then caught herself – had she just said no to the prince? Nervously, she glanced at him, and his gaze had darkened. That strange smile was no longer on his face. She swallowed. Yes, she was definitely making an impression, but she was fairly certain that it wasn't a very good kind of impression.

Suddenly, he held out his hand. "Dance with me," he said, and it sounded like an order rather than a request. The girls behind her gasped and muttered, talking among themselves, and she shook her head, backing away slightly. This had been a bad idea from the start. She should have done more research on the prince himself, but she had foolishly expected him to be like most of the other male nobles her age – shallow, playful and generous with their spending. From what she saw, the prince was not playful. In fact, he seemed almost dangerous. His cordiality may have fooled the other girls who came before her, but she could see in the grim set of his mouth that he was not exactly kind, nor was he really very nice. He only acted like that because he was the prince. She _knew_.

"You are not allowed to refuse," he said calmly, taking her rejection perfectly well. "I'm the prince and the birthday boy – you're at my ball. If I ask you to dance, it would be rude to reject – but shall I rephrase my words? Please dance with me, _Cinderella_ ," he emphasised the name she had given him, and the whole time he spoke his gaze never left hers. She struggled to come up with an excuse.

"The other girls behind me have already been awaiting their turn for quite some time," she finally spoke. She did not particularly care about the other girls – she was only at this ball to serve her own ends – but she thought that this would be the perfect excuse. It allowed her to reject his offer, while sounding perfectly civil and concerned about others. She would seem like a good little girl. Maybe the prince would stop focusing on her if she seemed like any ordinary noblewoman. She knew, from the very bottom of her heart, that he was not asking her to dance because he was attracted to her.

"They can wait a little longer," he glanced behind her, gaze clearly quite disinterested. "I am tired of seeing an endless array of faces, and I wish simply to enjoy a dance with a lovely girl. Will you not grant me my wish?" his blue eyes looked right into hers, gaze penetrating. She wished she could protest – she wanted to say that she was definitely not a lovely girl – but the longer she struggled to come up with a reply, the longer he waited. His eyes narrowed at her, and despite the smile on his face, she saw the warning in his expression – that she better just take his hand and dance. She didn't want to know what the consequences of rejecting him would be, so resignedly she took hold of his hand. The moment their skin touched, he smiled peacefully. "See how simple it is, _Cinderella_?"

He was still putting emphasis on her name, so she knew he did not believe her. Of course, that was only to be expected, since how many people actually did have Cinderella as a name? However, as he swept her towards the centre of the ballroom, leaving behind a queue of angry girls, she wanted to cringe away from him, and from all the eyes she could feel watching her. She had the vague sense that she was now caught up in something bigger than herself, but she still hoped that she would be able to wriggle her way out of it, somehow. The prince would surely lose interest in her before long.


	3. Chapter 3

The moment everyone noticed he was holding the hand of a girl, the whole ballroom seemed to shush, all the guests turning to look at him. He smiled pleasantly back at them, firmly holding on to the girl's hand. He could feel her trying to squirm free of his hold, and he tightened his grip.

The orchestra started playing a different song now – an old waltz. He could remember the steps like he remembered the back of his hand, and he led the strange girl to the centre of the floor, getting into position with his left arm outstretched and his right hand placed against the small of her back. Reluctantly, she placed her free hand on his shoulder, and so the dance began.

At first, for a while, as was custom, the prince led the dance. This girl who claimed to be called Cinderella was a good dancer, and she kept up with him easily, which impressed him somewhat. Slowly, gradually, she started to relax – her fingers no longer dug _quite_ so painfully into his skin, and a slow smile crept over her face. One by one, other couples came to join them on the floor, and when it was crowded enough, he decided that he should be able to talk to her without anyone else overhearing them. There was enough gossip floating around regarding him finding a fiancée at the ball – he especially did not want people to assume that there was anything between him and this girl simply because of the topics they might possibly be discussing.

The girl looked like she was enjoying herself. "So you like dancing then, Cinderella?" the name rolled easily off his tongue, and he smiled, amused. She glanced up at him at the sound of the name, her own smile wiped off her face. In all honesty, he was glad that he ran into this girl tonight at the ball. He was entirely prepared to last through three nights of pointless small talk and cordial greetings with girls who interested him not the slightest. He did not know of this particular girl's intentions yet, but her attempt at distinguishing herself from the other girls was entertaining enough in itself. He wanted to know what else she would come up with.

"Somewhat," she answered carefully, saying nothing else. He observed her, with her pink-tinted cheeks and the fierce green eyes he could see, glaring out at him from underneath her mask. Another thing that interested him was how she did not seem to grovel before him for his attention. It was surely a facade – maybe she thought that would interest him more – but sadly, he had to admit that it was working. It was the first time a girl had shown a lack of interest in him, after all. Even if they did not find him extremely handsome, girls flocked to him due to his status as royalty. It was a bitter thought to consider, knowing that the aristocracy saw him as nothing but a ladder to climb in society.

"Only somewhat? You could fool me. A lovely girl who can dance so well must surely enjoy dancing with a passion," he answered slyly, and she did not answer, simply averting her gaze and concentrating on the movements of her feet. The mask she wore looked somewhat like his, he noticed belatedly – where her mask was pure white, his was jet black, though they both had the same crystal shaped teardrops at one corner of the mask. "Perhaps we got our masks from the same vendor," he pointed out casually. "They look rather similar, don't you agree?" at which she simply nodded. He wondered if she really was not interested in speaking with him, or if she was just playing hard to get. He hoped it was the former, because he would like to rise to such a challenge.

She was a beautiful girl. For all his claims of not being interested in women at the moment, her beauty was not something he could deny. He would bet that underneath that mask, she was absolutely stunning – one could tell by the pout of her lips and the long eyelashes he could just barely make out underneath the mask, that this girl was probably very feminine in her appearance. Her long hair – teal, a rather strange colour but still very enchanting – was twisted up in a simple bun, which he liked much better than the ridiculously intricate hairstyles some of the other girls were wearing. One girl he greeted earlier, younger than him, had been wearing a horribly garish ruffled pink dress which looked heavy and difficult to walk in, and wore her bright red hair in a thick mass of braids that combined to form some warped kind of beehive. It was abhorrent, but being the prince he was, he tactfully said nothing about her strange appearance, merely wishing her a good time at the ball. He had already forgotten that girl's name…and the names of most of the others too.

"I do wish you'd take off this mask for me," he leant close to her during a particularly slow dance, whispering into her ear. Up till that point the both of them had not said anything, and if it wasn't for the fact she was still moving her feet he might have thought she had fallen asleep. She jumped a little at the suddenness of his words, leaning subtly away from him. She seemed uncomfortable.

"And why would you want me to do that, prince?" she asked. "This is a masquerade ball, isn't it? The fun of the night will disappear the instant the masks are taken off our faces," she was smart and came up with a good response to his words, rather than just laughing and tittering like most other aristocratic girls would. He found that refreshing. "I might take off my mask if you take yours off," she suddenly suggested boldly, mirroring what he told her earlier in the evening. He laughed quietly at her idea.

"But like what you said, the magic of the night will dissolve the moment I take my mask off. Besides, don't you already know what Prince Romeo looks like?" he used the name mockingly. Most of the people in the kingdom either did not know his real name, or forgot what it was. Romeo was, after all, so much catchier than Kagamine Len. His real name was a mouthful to pronounce, so Romeo became his trademark, though he disliked being known by that moniker. It was difficult to change the mind-set of the people, however, so after a while he just gave up trying to get people to call him by his real name. The palace servants, however, were strictly forbidden from calling him Prince Romeo.

"No, I don't," she answered, much to his surprise. It surprised him even more that he did not suspect her of lying, but she sounded genuine. "I was raised in a faraway land," she explained, "and I only came here recently, to live with my aunt. She received the invitation to your ball and asked if I would like to attend as well. I agreed, so here I am," she sounded uncomfortable again. "I can safely assure you that I know very little about you, other than the fact you're a prince, so it makes me wonder why you chose to dance with me, of all girls. There are many other ladies still awaiting their turn to introduce themselves, and perhaps have a dance with you as well," she said delicately.

"But they do not interest me," he replied just as delicately. He watched her lips press themselves into a grimace, secretly amused by her reactions to what he said. She was entertaining, and most unlike many other noble ladies he knew. That was probably explained by her being raised in a different land – perhaps they had different customs for interacting with royalty, but he was secretly glad that she was not stiff, formal and nervous like so many people were when they spoke to him.

He was beginning to take quite the shine to her. His father's words ran through his mind – he ought to find a companion, if not a lover. At least someone whom he could talk to, and wasn't one of the castle servants. Then perhaps he would not be so lonely, and maybe he would pine a little less, though he wasn't really sure if he wanted to stop pining yet. "Cinderella, if that is really your name," he started, "I do tire of dancing. Would you like to walk in the rose gardens with me?" he smiled charmingly at her, hoping that his smile would be able to coax the reluctant girl into spending more time with him. "The roses are in bloom now, and the garden smells lovely. It is a rare opportunity to take a look deeper into the palace grounds," he added, surely a boon for a foreigner like her.

She hesitated. The two of them had stopped dancing now, and as the orchestra switched to a song with a fast tempo, the dancing couples around them picked up the pace too, swirling and turning around them. They were like the eye of a tornado, the calm in the centre of the maelstrom. She looked up at him, and he wondered what she was thinking – he was usually pretty good at guessing the thoughts of other people, but with the mask in the way, he had no idea what was going through her mind. He hoped she would say yes, because it was true that he did tire of this ball and wanted to get out and enjoy some peace and quiet. Finally, she nodded, though she still looked somewhat suspicious.

He took her by the hand and led her out of the ballroom. Gumi, who was stationed outside the ballroom doors, looked quizzically at him as he led the mysterious girl outside, but he put a finger to his lips and she nodded, glancing at the masked girl curiously. He honestly still did not believe she was called Cinderella, but until she was willing to divulge her true name, that was what he would use to refer to her by. "Tell Father that I'm with someone, if he happens to ask," he said quietly to Gumi, who nodded and simply waved him on his way. He smiled, tugging the girl by her hand out towards the rose gardens, which were right at the very back of the palace grounds.

Miku was genuinely wondering what she had gotten herself into. She was wondering whether she should reconsider her plan, because the prince she met here was sardonic and mocking and she was aware that it would not be easy as she thought to manipulate him. Whoever he was, he was rather observant and knowing, and it would be hard to convince him to marry her just because she was beautiful, like she was originally planning to do. And, if they really married and she was taken into the royal family, how would she then escape the palace and seek her fortune from there? These were all uncomfortable considerations which were now blossoming into mind. She chewed on her lip.

Should she carry on with her plan? She knew that she wanted to get out of the manor as soon as possible, and marriage was the fastest way to do so. If she was lucky, if things went well like how they seemed to be now, it was entirely possible that she could get out of her prison within a week, at most. Her main concern was whether she would be jumping out of the frying pan into the fire, however. She had been looking for someone she could easily manipulate into doing her bidding and setting her free – preferably after giving her some money so she could be on her way – just like how she envisioned most noblemen to be. She was not expecting someone with sharp blue eyes and a sly smile, not like this particular prince. He shared too many similarities to her conniving self for her to feel comfortable around him. If she were to marry him, it was unlikely she would ever get away.

As she thought to herself, balancing the pros and cons of marrying into the royal family – it basically boiled down to getting away from the manor versus being the prince's reluctant wife – the prince led her to the rose garden he spoke of. He pulled her out into the night air, and she gasped as her nose was hit instantly by the intoxicating smell of hundreds and hundreds of roses, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Some of them twined elegantly over pillars, some of them spread their thorny branches gracefully into the air, their bushes neatly pruned and trimmed. The roses all looked black in the night, and a dark red where the moonlight shone across them. It was absolutely stunning.

"It looks gorgeous enough in the day," the prince mused beside her, "but at night it holds a very enchanting kind of loveliness that few people have the privilege to witness. You're one of them; you should feel very blessed," she let his cockiness slide, she was so in awe of the rose gardens. She had heard rumours that the palace had lovely gardens of course – Anastasia mentioned it casually once when she started getting interested in flower patterns – but she never thought it would be this beautiful. The last time she saw a rose garden was when she was a child. Her family's summer home had a rose garden nearby…she winced, willing herself to forget about that memory for now.

He did not notice her wince, thankfully, because she didn't want to explain her strange reaction to the gardens. "Yes, it is stunning," she turned to him, agreeing with what he said. The fragrance in the night air was almost intoxicating, and she could feel her lips turn up into a smile as she inhaled the perfume of all these lovely red blooms. "I would like to see it in the daytime. I think, with this wonderful fragrance in the air, the beauty of the roses would be enhanced and the sight would be no doubt memorable," she meant every word she said. Though she was still uneasy about the prince and his intentions, this garden was beautiful. She could tell that plenty of effort had been put in to keep this place nice and relatively tidy. The hedges and lawn seemed perfectly trimmed, after all. The rosebushes were slightly messy, but in a deliberate sort of way, drawing attention to the lovely blooms open wide at the top of each bush. She was tempted to reach out and pluck one rose.

As if he could read her mind, the prince did exactly as she wished, stepping out into the centre of the garden and plucking one of the flowers from the rosebushes. He returned to her, fingers delicately holding on to the blooming flower – she could smell the perfume of the rose getting stronger as he walked back – and, without any fanciful words or gestures, he simply tucked the rose into her teal hair. She stared up at him, wondering what his intentions were, and he let his hands fall down to his sides, returning her gaze just as intently. She could just barely make out his eyes in the darkness, the moonlight providing some illumination by which to see. "Only the most beautiful flower would suit such a lovely lady," he finally said, though she could hear the smirk present in his words.

"I'm surprised you would think I am lovely," she answered politely, though she was starting to think that the prince should work harder on his attempts at flirting, since she was rather unimpressed. "After all, you do not know what I look like. For all you know, underneath this mask I could look like an absolute hag. It would be best to reserve your judgement about me for now, Prince Romeo," she bowed her head. Some little part of herself was asking her what she was doing – she was supposed to seduce the prince and convince him to marry her. Why was she acting like she was completely disinterested in him, or even worse, seemingly trying to prevent him from being interested in her?

"Loveliness does not have to be solely about appearances," he smiled, probably in an attempt to be charming. She could see the curve of his lips in the moonlight. "It could be about character and strength of mind as easily as it could be about your eyes, your face or your lips. Loveliness encompasses many different aspects, my dear Cinderella," when he said her name, it rolled off his tongue like velvet chocolate. She actually quite liked the way he said 'Cinderella' – it was just a pity that she despised the name, and would not be referring to herself by that name if it weren't for the fact that her stepfamily was present at the ball as well. "And I can tell that you are a lovely person. I must admit, I am rather interested in you."

Her heartbeat sped up. Here was her chance. She was rather startled that her idea actually worked, and that the prince did seem to take a shine to her despite them starting off on the wrong foot, but she was slightly suspicious of his intentions still. There was just something about the way he spoke, something about the way he smiled, which made her think that he might not be planning what she was hoping for. "Perhaps I am not interested in you, however," she tried not to sound disrespectful, but there was no way she could say such a phrase without sounding completely ungracious. He did not react negatively in any way, however, further strengthening her suspicions.

"If you aren't interested in me romantically, then that would be simply wonderful," he declared, much to her surprise. "You see, despite what most people assume, I am not here tonight to look for a bride or fiancée," his voice dripped with distaste. "I am only here to find, at the very most, a companion. Someone who is willing to spend time with me and talk to me, and listen to what I have to say. Since you are not from these parts," he met her gaze, staring down intently at her, "then it is unlikely that you know. I was an adopted prince, and three years ago…I had a fiancée," his voice shook slightly here, but he quickly regained his composure. "I am not yet ready for another bride, unfortunately for the many noble ladies at the ball tonight. However, since you are not interested in becoming my wife, then perhaps becoming my companion is something you could consider," he awaited her response to his proposal.

She was honestly stunned. She was expecting, throughout the formulation of her grand plan, to get a proposal. Then she would marry the prince and be free of the stepsisters forever. However, she did not end up with a proposal, at least not the type which she had envisioned. Here, the prince was giving her the offer of companionship, to let her keep him company as a friend instead of as a lover. It sounded much more appealing to her, to tell the truth. "You can even move into the palace if you want, we have plenty of guest rooms," the prince added, once again as though he could sense her thoughts. "Then you can see the rose garden in the daytime, as you wished you could just now. If you were to agree to this, I would be very excited about this arrangement, given that you are rather witty and it is a pleasure talking to you, despite your unfortunate choice of moniker. I do hope you will consider this well."

This made things even better. She could move into the palace! She would still be free to leave the manor! But a nagging doubt came to mind – if she was merely the prince's companion, would her stepsisters manage to find a way to get her back into their clutches? She knew for marriage, they would have no chance to do such a thing – marriage was lawfully binding, and if she was married to the prince, there was no way they could touch the prince's lawfully wedded wife. On the other hand, as the companion to the prince…technically, she would still be a Hatsune, and still be tied to her ancestral home, the manor. The stepsisters might argue their case in such a way that she would be forced to return home from the palace, even against the royal family's will – for, despite their power, they could not overrule the law. Their kingdom was fair and just; there were rarely exceptions made for the royalty, and she was definitely not important enough to warrant such an exception.

"I don't think my aunt would allow such an arrangement, unfortunately," she replied, giving her words much careful consideration. "You see, my mother sent me to my aunt with the strict instructions that I am to live under her roof. As part of their noble family, I must obey that rule and live within the family manor," she paused. The prince was listening intently to her. "I would love to move to the palace, I really would – it seems like a lovely place to stay in. But I fear that if I were to stay here, my aunt and mother would start a lawsuit to claim the rights to me, and where I stay. It would be messy and troublesome, and entirely too much fuss. I cannot bear the thought of so much trouble," she admitted, wishing she could say yes instead. However, she could not be careless. There was no way she could agree to anything other than a fool-proof plan, because once Anastasia and Lucinda realised she escaped and managed, somehow, to get her back, she knew she would never see the daylight again.

The prince frowned. "That is unfortunate…" he sounded wistful. "I was hoping that I could find someone else to talk to, besides the servants or the sycophantic nobles who flock to the palace almost daily, hoping to seek my father's favour. You seem like a terribly genuine person, Cinderella, were it not for the fact that your very name and person is built on a story," again, he sounded rather amused. She was somewhat regretting her decision to name herself Cinderella now, since he seemed to find endless enjoyment from picking on her nickname. She was tempted to speak sarcastically of his name as well, but held her tongue – there were still two more nights to the ball, two more nights to perhaps change the prince's mind. He could still be of use to her. It would be better not to destroy the…bond? Or relationship, that she had built with the prince so far.

"Perhaps you will find someone else at the ball who can be your willing companion," she suggested. Of course, she didn't want him to do that, because if he really found another girl then all hopes of her fleeing would be flushed down the drain. To her relief however, he shook his head, rejecting her suggestion even before she finished speaking. Was she really that unique to the prince? That gave her some hope that there was still something she could do regarding her situation.

"I know what most noblewomen are like. You are a rare find – my age, is it? I am eighteen years old, and I assume you are somewhere around that age as well. You are witty and sharp, which I really do appreciate – it is hard to find someone with which one can banter nowadays. And what's more, if my suspicions are right and my curiosity ever, one day, satisfied, you have a lovely face hidden away underneath that infernal mask. I am rather determined to one day unmask you, dear Cinderella," he smiled knowingly at her. She, on the other hand, heard a threat rather than a compliment.

"I'd like to keep my mask on, it makes me feel safer from the attentions of men," she retorted, forcing herself to return his smile as she did so. "I think it is time I went back to the ball. Have a good night, prince," she curtseyed once more, feeling rather satisfied with the progress she made with the prince on the night of the first ball. Already, they were on speaking terms, and he offered her a chance to stay in the palace and be his companion. In the next two nights, perhaps she could change his mind about not wanting to find a fiancée…some part of her doubted she could do so, after hearing what he said about not being ready for another relationship so soon, but she figured that it would not hurt to try. At most, on the third day she would accept his offer of companionship and pray hard that the stepsisters were not bright enough to claim she belonged back in the manor.

"Hold on, you don't need to leave so hastily," the prince called out, interrupting her departure. She paused and looked around, wondering what more he had left to say to her. He was walking up to her, and upon reaching her, he took hold of her hand, bending down so that he could brush his lips against the back of her hand. Her skin tingled where his lips made contact, and instinctively she snatched her hand away. He looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. "Do you not like my farewell?" he asked, sounding almost displeased. She shook her head hastily – no, it was not that. "Then why do you remove your hand as though I am some kind of repulsive creature?" he asked, this time with a tinge of amusement in his words. She did not know how to answer, so she merely remained where she stood, silent and unspeaking. "You foreigners are strange," he finally said, shaking his head. "I can't tell what you're thinking, whether you approve of what I do or not. But I would like to know one thing, Cinderella," his gaze met hers, "would you be attending the ball again tomorrow night?"

She nodded, and he appeared to be relieved. "Then that is good, I'll have a reason to attend the ball tomorrow night that isn't just about avoiding my father's lectures. I look forward to seeing you there then, Cinderella," he bowed to her politely. "Tomorrow, if you are keen on seeing me again, perhaps you could wait at the potted plant between the orchestra and the corner of the room. I will look for you there, and pray hard that I will get to see even just a fleeting glimpse of your lovely face," she was rather sure that he was obligated to say all these flowery compliments to her because he was the prince, but it was nice to be spoken to this way, nevertheless. She agreed to his plan, knowing she would have to think of ways to nudge him towards suggesting marriage tomorrow, before turning around and heading back towards the ballroom. From there, she would leave the palace. Her audience with the prince was concluded, so her reason for attending tonight's ball was exhausted as well. She should go home and clean Anastasia's dresser, as well as prepare supper like the obedient servant she was. That way, she would be free to attend the ball again tomorrow night.

Len watched the mysterious girl leave, almost painfully curious about her now. She had rejected his offer of companionship, something most noble girls would have jumped at – anything for a chance to enter the palace and assume a position of relative importance. This Cinderella girl however, was almost reluctant to spend time with him, and he was starting to see it – see her – as a challenge to be conquered. He wanted to make her fond of him, since right now she seemed not to have any interest in him whatsoever. It was a bad thought to have, since after making her fall for him, he would not be able to marry her since he simply could not force himself to take another bride. But he could not deny that he was intrigued by this girl who treated him not like royalty, but rather as someone who was on the same level as her. She was casual enough without being disrespectful, and since she was not uptight and stuffy like other nobles, she was actually quite the pleasure to speak with.

The rose he plucked for her had suited her hair wonderfully, as he knew it would. The fragrance of the bloom lingered in the air, particularly sweet among the perfume of hundreds of other roses. Her skin, when he kissed her, was soft and smooth, but he thought he felt the slightest, _slightest_ hint of calluses on her palm when he held her hand. Calluses were not something aristocrats were meant to have, especially the ladies, since they did no manual labour. He would have automatically assumed she was a servant who sneaked into the ball, except that her finery, her manners and her dancing were all too impeccable for a mere servant to have accomplished. She was, overall, a very mysterious person, and he liked a good mystery. He decided that he liked this Cinderella girl.

He would make her stay on to be his companion no matter what. If her aunt was the only problem, the only obstacle that barred her from moving into the palace, then he was sure he could work something out with the girl's aunt. He was royalty, after all. He wanted to know more about this girl – the way she thought, her mannerisms, her wittiness and remarks, and most of all, what she would look like underneath the mask. He wanted to know her face, and he wanted to know her real name. She was a person covered in masks, and he intended to unmask her true identity and find out who she truly was. Thankfully she was coming tomorrow, so he would have more opportunities to talk to her.

It had been a long time since he last encountered someone who interested him enough to make him actually _want_ to talk to them. He thought that perhaps, his life would make a change for the better. It might stop being the mundane affair it usually was – perhaps Cinderella would bring some spark to his dreary existence. It was too early to say now, since they were barely even acquaintances at the moment, but he already suspected that if given the chance, she would grow to become a very dear friend.


	4. Chapter 4

She got the supper ready, and made sure that Lucinda and Anastasia's rooms were spick-and-span, without a single speck of dust in sight. She was just leaving Anastasia's room when she heard the front doors open, and knew that the trio must be back from the prince's ball.

"I wonder who that girl is," Lucinda could be heard jabbering from downstairs, as Miku made her way down to the parlour. "She was the only person he danced with all night, and after she mysteriously disappeared, the prince didn't dance with anyone else. Where did she go?" Lucinda looked frustrated now, carelessly taking the pins holding her elaborate hairstyle in place out of her hair. Anastasia was ignoring Lucinda, whereas their mother just nodded helplessly, not knowing how to get away from her youngest daughter when she was so irate. Miku cleared her throat.

"Supper is ready, and I've left it on the kitchen table. Some bread with butter and a chunk of cheese. We're running out of food in the pantry," she said politely, not daring to cross the stepsisters in any way. She had to be free to leave the house the next two nights. Anastasia nodded absently, taking her hair out of its bun, while Lucinda seemed to be distracted from her tirade by the mention of food. However, as the younger stepsister bounced past Miku towards the kitchen, she stopped and stared hard at her, or specifically at her teal hair. Miku swallowed, feeling a little nervous.

"You know, there was this girl at the ball," Lucinda adopted the imperious way of speaking she had when talking specifically to her. "She has the same kind of teal hair as you, you freak – but she's much prettier than you can ever hope to be. You're filthy and covered in grime," Lucinda's gaze roamed over her in distaste. Miku had specially taken the ashes from the fireplace and smeared them over her skin so that she would no longer look so suspiciously clean. It pained her to do so, but this was the only way she could avoid Anastasia and Lucinda's suspicions – she knew from the start that her teal hair was painfully prominent, so she had to take measures to protect herself.

"Perhaps it's a sign that one day I might be beautiful," she answered, toning down the flippancy though she wished she could say something more sarcastic. Lucinda merely rolled her eyes, clearly contemptuous, and went on her way to the kitchen. Anastasia went to seat herself on a chair, her brown hair falling in loose waves down her back, while their mother just proceeded to go back to her room as usual. She gave Miku a lingering look as she walked past her, which Miku avoided, and after a while the woman left and the penetrating stare was gone. Miku could not help but wonder if her stepmother had seen the mysterious girl at the ball, and suspected that it was her – she always felt that out of the three women now dominating her household, her stepmother was the smartest.

"I will be checking my dresser later for any dirt or uncleanliness. I do hope that you recall what I said to you before we left," Anastasia sniffed, sending her a haughty look. "I was wondering on the way home from the ball if I should just lock the manor doors so that you can't leave the house. That way you would have no choice but to focus on cleaning, instead of sneaking out to walk around in the gardens as you normally do – luckily for you, Mother convinced me not to do so. She seems to be almost fond of you, I don't understand why," she sniffed again. Miku seethed with rage – was it not bad enough that she was always stuck in the manor grounds? Now, Anastasia was threatening to confine her to the walls of the house as well. But she stuck a simpering smile on her face, knowing that any misstep for the next two days would mean an instant, week-long stay in the cellar.

"Oh, I'm so thankful to you and Stepmother for your benevolence," her hand fluttered up, lingering over her chest in a show of gratitude. "If I were cooped up in the house all day, it would drive me mad, and I'm so glad this isn't the case," she curtseyed. It was sickening, honestly, but she told herself that she only had to suck up to them until she was free. Once the prince invited her to stay in the palace, once she accepted his offer, she would be free. And she would no longer have to give them any face – in fact, she would be able to insult them and mock them all she wished, and they would no longer be able to retaliate with physical or mental punishment. It was a pleasant prospect.

Anastasia narrowed her eyes at her. "You sound rather sarcastic, Cinderella," she remarked. "I must wonder whether you really mean what you say, or whether you're just secretly trying to spite me. But I'll let that pass since Mother asked on your behalf," she looked away from her with a bored sigh, shaking out her long hair. "Now get out of my sight, you annoy me. You remind me entirely too much of that strange girl with teal hair. Lucinda was harping on and on about her all night – I might have thought you're that girl, in fact, if it weren't for the fact you were at home preparing supper."

She hid a smile, just nodding and leaving. Once she was out of the parlour, she started to giggle to herself, satisfied that her ploy had worked. It was a good thing that the stepsisters only hired day servants – she was the only _permanent_ servant in the manor, the others all went home after their afternoon duties were done. The servants were loyal to whoever paid them, so if there had been any who worked at night like her, her plan would have failed for the servants would no doubt inform Anastasia and Lucinda about her misdeeds. As it was, only she knew everything, and it felt good to be in some way superior to her stepsisters. She would ensure that her ploy worked the next two nights as well.

She would need to find a better way to hide her teal hair, however. It was much too distinctive. She frowned, placing a finger against her lips as she thought – but then the prince also identified her by her teal hair. She was just concerned that the stepsisters would suspect the teal haired girl at the ball was her, and lock her in the mansion to see if their theory was correct. Perhaps, instead of trying to disguise her hair, she should try to set up an alibi for herself. She smiled – one of the house servants was her friend, and perhaps the two of them would be able to work something out…

* * *

The second day passed by quickly, and before long Anastasia and Lucinda were once again preparing for the ball. This time, Lucinda was dressed in a slightly better fashion – she was wearing a voluminous dress in a sunny shade of buttercup yellow that didn't clash _too_ badly with her red hair. The hairstyle she wanted, however, made her look like a shepherdess, and not in a charming manner either.

Miku just did what Lucinda wanted, too distracted by her plans to protest against Lucinda's massacre of high fashion – even she, being the imprisoned servant she was, knew what looked good and what did not. Lucinda definitely did not look good. But she kept thinking about her alibi, over and over again, and it distracted her so much that she couldn't be bothered to voice her opinion. She had spoken to her fellow servant earlier – for both nights, _just in case_ Anastasia or Lucinda questioned the other servants about her activities, her friend would claim to have returned at night to pick up something she left behind in the day, and Miku passed the item to her. That should be enough proof that Miku was supposedly home the entire time, and not outside gallivanting around the palace.

She was aware that it was not the best alibi, but it was better than nothing, and anyway it was better to be prepared. She knew that Anastasia and Lucinda were not the sharpest knives in the drawer, but even they were not entirely stupid. Sighing softly to herself, she tied the last braid and patted the loose strands of hair down, standing back so that Lucinda could admire herself in the mirror. "Oh, I look wonderful," she gushed, though Miku begged to differ. "The prince will no doubt notice me tonight. I hope that girl doesn't show up again," a scowl darkened Lucinda's features. "She was terribly selfish, hogging the prince to herself all night like that. I don't know why everyone kept saying she was pretty. It's not like we can see each other's faces after all, at a masquerade ball. People were only blinded by the fact that she was dancing with the prince – I bet if you look closely at her, she isn't all that beautiful," Lucinda sounded bitter. Miku was rather amused, given that she was the girl Lucinda was feeling so upset about, but she didn't let that amusement show.

"Lucinda, you have ten more minutes!" Anastasia's voice came in through the door again, just like yesterday. "Don't be a brat and delay our departure the way you did last night. Mother and I are tired of your ways – you're fifteen already, act like your age," Miku could imagine the disdainful look on Anastasia's face as she spoke. " _Cinderella_ , make sure that Lucinda gets out of her room soon or else _you're_ the one I'll be punishing instead, do you understand me?" before she could respond, she heard the sound of footsteps, indicating that Anastasia had walked away. She gritted her teeth, finding Anastasia's demands to be ridiculously unfair – but then, since when had she ever been just?

Lucinda clearly shared the same views as her on this matter. "She always thinks that just because she's older, she can boss me around!" the redhead fumed. "It doesn't matter that I'm prettier and smarter while she's boring and dreary. It's _true_ that all she's interested in is needlework and stitching. That's why she can't find a fiancé, despite being eighteen and a noble. No one wants to enter any sort of arrangement with a hag like her," Lucinda declared, lightening Miku's mood somewhat. "Now, before I go down to meet Mother and the hag, help me decide which pair of shoes I should wear to the ball," she said haughtily. Miku set to work, not paying much attention since Lucinda wouldn't listen to her recommendations anyway. She couldn't wait for the women to get out of the manor.

Eight pairs of shoes later, Lucinda was ready, and she set off down the stairs to the parlour. Miku followed some distance behind, heard Anastasia say that she just _barely_ made it under the ten minute mark, and then the two sisters and their mother left the manor for the palace. She took a deep breath, suddenly feeling very liberated, and took off to take another quick bath. Naturally, she could not show up to the prince's ball covered in soot and ashes, as she was in her present state.

She ran through the bath faster than yesterday, eager to be on her way. The prince had indicated that he wanted to talk to her again tonight, and she was going to make use of this interest to further her agenda. Drying herself with a spare towel, she rushed back from Lucinda's room to her attic, deciding that she would bypass makeup entirely tonight and go to the ball bare-faced. Her masquerade mask should be enough to cover up any blemishes her lack of makeup happened to expose. She didn't want to bother with the fuss of applying powder and blush, and she got the feeling that the prince wouldn't notice whether or not she wore makeup anyway. Men were rather obtuse, judging from the way Lucinda bemoaned her various love interests in the past. The prince was probably no exception to that, even if he did seem to be remarkably knowing and observant.

The dress she set out for today was a deep, velvety black, trimmed with delicate lace and silk. The low-cut bodice was a tad daring for her, but she liked it because it accentuated her figure and made her look more mature than she really was. Coupled with the simple black mask she set aside for tonight, adorned with a single, blood-red rose, she was quite a striking figure, and she knew she would once again attract plenty of attention. She liked this gown because this was the dress her mother was wearing when she first met her father. It was a love story Miku had grown up listening to, and seeing this dress placed all sorts of romantic notions in her – ideas about meeting her first love, about falling in love and romance and adoration and eternity. Those sentiments, however, were squashed out of her after she hit puberty. Nevertheless, the dress was lovely, and she was fond of it.

She fingered the deep red flower attached to her mask and thought that it might remind the prince of their meeting last night. Perhaps he would interpret this mask as sentiment. This time, she braided her hair, letting the long plait fall over her left shoulder. The shimmering teal was a stark contrast against her pale skin, which was left bare since her gown tonight was worn off the shoulder. The colours were rich and eye-catching – teal, white, scarlet and black. She wished she could have a lacy black fan to complete the look, but since she didn't, she would just attend the ball as she was.

Remembering the offer of the nice young gentleman last night, she set off in the direction of his manor. His carriage was waiting outside his house, and as she approached his manor, she saw him and his mother exiting the manor gates, heading towards the waiting horses. She reached them quickly, greeting the pair, and they returned her greetings with delighted exuberance. The young noble complimented her beauty, and she laughed gently, accepting his compliment with thanks.

The journey towards the palace was filled with more chatter than the previous night, with both mother and son asking her questions about her past now. She gave them the same story she gave the prince last night, about her being a foreigner who came to stay with an aunt. When they asked which aristocrat her aunt was, she smiled demurely and neglected to reply. They respected her need for privacy and stopped questioning her, though she could feel the curious gaze of the older woman upon her the whole trip. Perhaps she was wondering about her identity, and whether the mystery which cloaked her so would be beneficial or harmful to her son. But it didn't matter, because Miku was not particularly interested in romance or marriage at the moment. Even marriage to the prince made way for her greater desire for freedom. Marriage was merely an escape from a greater evil.

She was helped down from the carriage once more by the young noble. His mother, when he was not looking, took the chance to whisper to Miku about how her son had been terribly smitten since last night, when they first met. Again, she laughed politely, not quite knowing how else to react – it was the first time in a long time she entertained confessions of fancy – and told the older woman that she thought he was a nice man. She only meant that as a neutral remark however, and hoped that the woman would not take it as a sign that her son's feelings were returned, for they were not.

The servants situated at the palace doors were not as numerous as the previous night, probably because the royal family assumed that most of the guests should, by now, know the way to the ballroom themselves. Again, Miku spotted the green haired servant who gave her the directions to the ball yesterday, and who was also the same servant the prince spoke to while leading her out to the rose gardens. The servant seemed to recognise her, turning to look at her with a curious expression on her face. Miku nodded towards her in acknowledgement, and the servant smiled, bowing towards her. They did not communicate any further, but Miku felt that it was nice to be remembered by other people in society. She had been shut away from other people for so long that she almost forgot what it was like, to have connections to people who weren't just the house servants or her stepfamily. She felt like a ghost, floating amongst the living, clearly there yet not truly present.

She followed the stream of people to the ballroom. This time, she had to put up with a great deal more staring and muttering than she did last night. Last night, almost no one had noticed her on the way to the ballroom. Today, every few steps she took someone would greet her and ask her for her name, who she was, whether she was interested in the prince – the last question usually came from the ladies. She would answer every question as politely as she could, though the number of times she was asked the same question by jealous aristocrats was beginning to get on her nerves.

Eventually, she made her way to the ballroom, and she was determined to find a corner to hide so that she could avoid being mobbed by all these curious nobles. The men wanted to speak to her, and hoped that she would dance with them. The women simply muttered among themselves, some of them even throwing her dark looks, which she ignored for unlike them, she was not interested in the prince for his money or his power. She wasn't even interested in him for his good looks, though she could not deny his attractiveness. She felt like _her_ need for the prince was, in a way, the most moral. The prince could help her. And, in return, she could help him. She could become his companion, someone to keep him company – she understood the pain of loneliness, because she herself was lonely. But she had never imagined that someone like the prince would ever feel so…alone.

Recalling his strange directions to her – to wait at the pot between the orchestra and the corner of the room – she found the plant which he spoke of, deciding that this spot was also an adequate hiding spot for her to keep out of public eye until the prince came to find her. She was not as keen on dancing tonight as she was yesterday – yes, the music was still delightful, but dancing would probably draw attention to herself, and she was desperately trying to avoid being noticed by other people. The fewer people saw her, the better. She especially didn't want Anastasia or Lucinda to see her again, and start wondering whether she was the mysterious girl. It couldn't be that difficult to put two and two together – after all, how many people in this land actually had teal hair?

"Not going out to dance today?" she whipped around, startled – there the blond haired prince stood, arms folded across his chest, a small smirk on his face. She exhaled – thank goodness it was him, and not some other young man desperate to make her acquaintance. She shook her head, eyeing the floor uneasily – there were many couples dancing there, but she was sure that even among such a crowd, her teal hair would be remarkably distinctive. At least in this corner, she blended in with the plant. "You look lovely tonight," he observed, and she muttered her thanks.

He was, once again, wearing a mask similar to hers. His mask was black too, with a similar rosebud attached to one side, though his rose was black just like the mask itself, while hers was a vivid red, the only pop of colour in her outfit. He was dressed in all black as well, save for one bright spot of red – there was a vivid red bloom attached to his lapel, the only spark of colour in an otherwise dull outfit. "I wonder if you can read my mind," he commented, "for yesterday we wore similar masks, and today this occurs again. Furthermore, you and I are both in black, the colour of power…the colour of death. I wore black to mourn the peaceful life I had before this whole ball business," he shook his head. "I shall not ask you why you chose to wear black to supposedly festive activities, but I'm glad to see that I am not the only person here who's dressed like they're ready to attend a funeral," he grinned.

"Black does not always have to be the colour of mourning," she retorted – his comparison of her black outfit to a funeral was almost offensive, given the memories and sentiments this dress held for her. "Black can be class and elegance, it can even be romantic in the right situation. My mother's favourite colour was black," she informed him, and he raised an eyebrow, looking surprised.

"I see you are passionate about this subject! How fascinating," he nodded, speaking more to himself than to her. "I'd love to see the debates you could have with me – no doubt they would be most interesting. But why is it that you use the past tense, is black no longer your mother's favourite colour?" he tilted his head, a quizzical expression on his face. It was only after he pointed out her slipup that she realised what she had said, and she wracked her brains to think of a solution.

"It still is her favourite colour," she finally came up with an answer that wasn't the truth, "it's just that her fondness for other colours has temporarily eclipsed her love for black. But no matter the current trends or fads, black will always be the colour she returns to. Black is like a safety net – it goes well with most things, and anyway, my mother told me that black held sentimental memories for her," such as this black dress she currently wore being the dress in which she first met her father.

"Women and your fashion trends. These will always be beyond me – what's wrong with simply wearing blacks and whites? Nothing was ever wrong with monochrome colours," he shook his head. "Nowadays, the girls I see are drowning in taffeta and silk, and look like they can hardly walk in those terrible monstrosities they call dresses. I much prefer your style – it is very minimalist, but still very elegant," he reached out to her face, one fingertip brushing lightly against the rose on her mask. Instinctively, she flinched away – he was a stranger, no matter how badly she wanted to get onto his good side – and he noticed that. A strange look flitted across his face, so quickly that she couldn't identify what emotion it was. Then he smiled at her. "Do you want to explore the palace instead?"

"I would like to," she frowned, "but as the prince, I'm sure your job is to stay here and entertain the guests. It's your ball, after all. Are you sure you can just leave whenever you fancy?" he gave her a look that somehow made her feel like she had just said something rather stupid.

"The main purpose of the celebrations, other than to commemorate my eighteenth birthday, is for me to find a bride. At least, that's what my father intends," he reached out past her to touch the flowers on the plant, and she shivered – his arm was near her neck, and she suddenly felt very sensitive towards their close proximity. "Of course, I don't want that. We came to a compromise – I could seek a companion, though I won't necessarily force myself to do so. And now that I've found someone whom I actually want to spend some time with," his gaze lingered curiously upon her, "why should I stay around here and waste my time with shallow, vapid conversation?"

"I don't know, I don't feel comfortable about just…sneaking off like that," she hedged, testing his determination. She wanted to see the lengths to which he would go just to get his way. "My aunt gave me quite a lecture last night after I went to the rose gardens with you. She said that I was supposed to be meeting other noblemen at the ball, not just wandering around the palace and making a fool of myself. She claimed she was unable to find me in the ballroom all evening," she sighed despondently. "I would hate to disappoint my dear aunt again. She wants me to marry a nice young nobleman, and she thinks that not attending the ball would ruin my chances of marriage."

The prince laughed, though the laugh sounded more disbelieving than humorous. "Your aunt is a strange woman to hold such beliefs. You should not have a problem finding a husband, Cinderella – your name is a unique point, and despite what most women believe, many men actually value a sharp, good sense of humour more than they do a pretty face," he plucked one of the flowers off the plant behind her, again tucking the bloom into her teal hair. She stared up at him, wondering what was the point of him doing this to her. "You are both entertaining and a lovely creature," he mused, his hand lingering over the flower, "and trust me, most men at the ball are interested in speaking with you. Since finding suitors for your hand in marriage is not a problem, ball or not, then I invite you to join me. Don't waste your time in boring events like these," his eyes gleamed knowingly.

Did he know that she was bored, that she had little to do here other than focus on his attention? She was not here to enjoy herself, after all – she did not come here to eat and drink and make merry. Playing coy was getting his attention, she felt, but she was afraid that she might push it too far and make him lose interest in her entirely. For now, being hard to get was working, but for how much longer will this method work? "Where do you wish to take me?" she asked. He seemed delighted by the question, clearly having taken it as an agreement to go with him though she said no such thing.

"I will show you the rooms, if you want. The throne room, the guest rooms, the dining hall, perhaps even my room if you so wish," the last suggestion was said slyly, but she didn't know why he wore such a look on his face, so she ignored his tone of voice. "Anything would be better than staying here and talking to people with a smile plastered on my face. You don't know how tiring it is to remember the names of fifty different lords and ladies. After a while, they all start sounding the same to me," he scoffed. "I respect their contributions, I really do, but I'm not in the mood tonight to discuss war and strategy with elderly men. This whole affair is meant to be a celebration, not a tactical meeting."

They had been standing together at the pot for a while now, and she was aware that some people were starting to notice them. She saw the pointed looks of curiosity and recognition, and knew that before long people would start approaching them. She had to make a choice – whether to dive back into the thick of the ball and hope that no one would spot her, or to follow the prince and use this opportunity to find out more about him, about his proposal last night, and whether she had any chance of wrangling a marriage out of all this. He didn't seem to suspect her of being a social climber for now, and she didn't want him to start thinking that way about her either, so if she really did want to talk about marriage, she would have to find a way to phrase her words that wouldn't make her sound like she was only after him for his social status. That would be a challenge, even for her.

"But my aunt…" she hedged for good measure. She wanted to keep up the good little girl impression she had going on here, just to see what he would do. The prince let out a sigh of exasperation, and without asking for any permission whatsoever, he grabbed her by the hand and started pulling her, not very subtly, towards the ballroom entrance. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as the nobles once again noticed her, and saw that she was with the prince. She had been trying to get by tonight without being noticed – no doubt Lucinda would return home again tonight ranting about the mysterious teal haired stranger. "Let go of me!" she hissed, trying to shake free of his grip.

He was much stronger than her, and she couldn't budge so much as an inch. With her still desperately trying to pull away from him, he dragged her out into the hallway, down another passageway until she could no longer hear the music that the orchestra was playing. It was only when they were this far away from the ballroom that he finally let go of her wrist, turning to give her a triumphant grin. She rubbed her wrist with her fingers – his grip had numbed her, and she could feel prickles as the blood flow there resumed. "Are you glad now? My aunt will probably scold me again about not being present all night at the ball," she injected the perfect amount of sourness into her words.

"Forget about your aunt," he waved his hand casually, "I'll deal with her. Just let me know which noblewoman she is and I'll talk to her personally about you moving to the palace to keep me company. I'll explain to her that your disappearances from the ball are due to your discussion with me regarding this…well, I suppose you could call it a job if you wanted, but it's really meant to be something much more than just a job," he shrugged. Even his shrug was remarkably graceful – perhaps a true sign that he really was meant to be a prince, adopted or not. He was very insistent, she was realising – insistent about getting his own way. Whether that was a good thing or bad thing, she could not be sure yet. "So, are you willing to follow me around the palace?" he now asked.

"I don't suppose I have a choice in this matter," she answered reluctantly, looking around to gain her bearings. This was not a part of the palace she had been to before, and she did not know where she was. The prince had gone down the different passageways so quickly that they all blurred together, and she couldn't recall how to get back to the ballroom. "If you're able to speak to my aunt about your suggestion last night though, that would be good," she added. If only he could settle the problem between her and her stepsisters as well – but that would need more than just discussion.

"You're right, you don't have a choice," he grinned again, looking remarkably satisfied with such an outcome. "I want to show you the palace because you'll need to know this area well, if you were to be my companion. I don't want you to keep getting lost here, since I won't always be around to show you the way," he was speaking as though everything was already settled, and she would be moving to the palace tomorrow. "Tonight, I'm going to talk to my father about you becoming my companion, and then we will come up with a solution to your aunt problem. Don't worry about it – I just want you to be able to pack up and move here within a moment's notice when the time comes."

"I never actually agreed to moving here, you know – I said I would like to, but that doesn't mean I will definitely do it," she cut in, clasping her hands together and placing them over her stomach. It was a subtly defensive pose, and he picked up on that defensiveness instantly, his eyes narrowing at what she said. "I am new here," she added, "and I really wish I could see the sights around here first, get settled and perhaps get a fiancé, before I really think about moving to the palace. Thank you for your offer, Prince Romeo, but I'm sorry – this is really all just too sudden for me," she apologised.

Inwardly, she was hoping to provoke some kind of reaction from him, hopefully in the form of a marriage proposal. Instead, he merely shook his head, letting out a deep sigh. "Why are you so eager to get married?" he asked bluntly. "You're young, like I am, and you don't see me looking for a new fiancée. Enjoy life while you can," he advised, reaching up to fiddle with his blond ponytail. "But enough dreary talk. It matters not to me whether you have made up your mind about joining me or not – I just want to get away from the ball and the falsity of it all, and you shall simply keep me company and entertain me until I decide to return to the celebrations. Is that understood?"

The gleam in his eye left no room for negotiation, so mutely she nodded, actually somewhat glad herself to be away from all those people, curious about her identity. "That's good. Now follow me," he turned away from her, and she followed him uncertainly down the passage. "I have things to talk to you about, but before we speak, I can show you things," he glanced back at her, a sly smile on his face, "things in the palace that would take your breath away. I hope that will change your mind."


	5. Chapter 5

She could hear the swish of her long dress against the carpeted floor. He had ceased holding on to her hand after he felt certain that she would follow him. She looked around, still feeling nervous.

"Don't fret so much, you'll make me panic," the prince said in front of her, though he had not turned back to look at her at all. She glared at his back – he was one to talk, he lived here. She felt strangely guilty about sneaking around in a place which most of the public, even the aristocracy, were largely prevented from entering. She hoped that the prince's tour of the palace wouldn't take too long.

"Why don't you cut your hair?" she asked, since she had nothing better to say – and anyway, she was feeling very distracted by the sight of his short blond ponytail. He stopped so abruptly that she almost crashed right into him, but thankfully she stopped herself just in time. He turned around to stare at her, a look on his face that seemed somewhere between amusement and curiosity.

"Simply because I don't want to," he answered. "I think longer hair suits me. Anyway, if you want to comment on the length of my hair, you should see the king," he shook his head, eyes still gleaming with humour. "It's the same reason why you would keep your own hair, after all. One just like how it looks when it's long. Must I cut my hair short just like every other male noble in the ballroom?"

"Your hair might be one reason why some people describe you as pretty rather than handsome," she blurted out her inner thoughts without thinking it through, and instantly her hand shot up to cover her mouth, embarrassed by what she just said. The prince tilted his head, now looking more puzzled than entertained. She had not meant to say that aloud – first, she didn't want to admit that he was good-looking, because he probably had heard enough of that and she was still trying to play coy. Secondly, comparing the prince to a lady probably was not the best thing she could have done.

"I don't know whether I should feel flattered or offended by that comment," he finally spoke, sounding uncertain. "It's not that I never heard people saying I am attractive, but this is certainly the first time someone called me…pretty. I can assure you that looking like a girl isn't something I intended to achieve when I started growing out my hair," he added, before turning around and continuing on his way. She followed, somewhat sheepish. He didn't react badly to her words, but she still felt his incredulity and hoped that she had not worsened her chances of escaping her prison.

He led her to the window in the middle of the corridor. They were on the second floor of the palace, if she was not wrong. The window was large, twice her height and four times her size. She could see out over the palace grounds from here, and feel the cold moonlight as it shone through the window, bathing her in its silver rays. "Look," the prince pointed out into the darkness, "from here you can see over the whole town, you can see the lights in the distance. Usually you can see the lights from the noble townhouses too, but they're all out today since there's this ball going on. It's rather pretty to look at, I like to stand here and look out into the night whenever I'm feeling stressed or upset," he looked at her. "What do you think?" he hedged, sounding a little unsure of himself, for once.

"It's lovely," she agreed, mesmerised by the town in the distance. She had never been there before. She only ever saw the mansion, the gardens, and some of the other noble townhouses from their manor gates. The idea that there was a whole town full of people, further down the road from where she lived – she wanted to be there, she wanted to live and experience the lives of others. She wanted to know how the commoners lived and worked. The servants answered her questions about their daily lives sometimes, but it wasn't the same because they served nobles, so they were in a sense just like her – no, she wanted to know what the other commoners were like, those who sold produce in the markets and farmed and tailored for a living. Those who were different from her.

"I'm glad you enjoy the view," he nodded, looking satisfied. "Come on, I have more to show you," he moved, but she did not, still gazing out of the window and drinking in the night scenery. The little squares of light in the distance were so pretty, and she could see the vast expanse of lawn right outside the palace along with the elaborate townhouses of the nobles that clustered just a little way down the hill. "We can look at this another time, after you move here," the prince added, sounding a little more impatient now, and he tugged on her hand, pulling her away. A little reluctant, she left the window, hoping that maybe she could get another glimpse before she left the palace tonight.

The palace was extremely big. If she came to stay here, she was sure she would get lost constantly her first week – there were ornate staircases all over the place, leading up to God knew where, and plenty of large double doors that probably opened up into all sorts of strange, unknown rooms. The prince bypassed many of these doors as he led her around the palace, making her wonder what kind of things were kept in the palace, but she did not ask because she knew it was not her business. The carpet they were walking on was very thick and muffled their footsteps well. She looked down at it, studying the embroidered silver and gold design, but the curves and spirals made little sense to her, and after a few failed attempts at trying to trace the design all the way to its beginning, she gave up.

They started to climb up from one of the staircases, and curious, she let her hand glide against the banister. It was made of the smoothest white marble, with delicate gold leaves twining up the small pillars which held up the banister. It was luxury in an understated way, showing wealth but not in an ostentatious manner. Whoever the kings of ages past hired to construct the palace chose the right people. "Where are we going now?" she asked, curious. The window had been nice. Maybe his next choice would be interesting, too. She hadn't expected too much from the tour, to tell the truth.

She honestly thought that it would just be a fancier version of the manor she was trapped in, since to her royalty were just very rich and powerful nobles. But maybe the palace would have surprises in store for her. He laughed, simply turning around and holding his hand out for her. "Take my hand," he invited, blue eyes gleaming, "and I'll show you a world of promise. That window was just the beginning. Staying in the royal palace is unimaginably different from being cooped up in a noble's mansion. You see things…" he waited, hand still outstretched. She hesitated, meeting his gaze – was it really all right for her to touch him so easily? Was he fine with such casual contact, given what he told her about not looking for another fiancée? If she was any other girl, she definitely would have the wrong impression by now. He seemed too interested in her to not be attracted in the slightest.

Slowly, she reached out, placing her hand in his. His hand was soft and smooth, truly the hand of an aristocrat. He had long, nimble fingers, and combined with his smooth skin she knew that he had to be a pianist. It was rather surprising, since most male aristocrats learnt the violin, which was seen as a more masculine option than the piano. She, too, could play the piano. She learnt when she was a little girl, but it had been a long time since she last played, and she knew that she was rusty now. His fingers curled over hers – her hand was noticeably smaller than his – and just like the previous time, he brought her hand up, brushing his lips against her skin. She did not flinch away this time, and he looked up at her, expression wondering. "Are you frightened of me, Cinderella?" he asked.

"What makes you suggest that?" she responded with a question of her own, arching one eyebrow – not that he could see her expression of curiosity, since her mask was in the way. He paused, seeming to consider whether or not he ought to tell her his reason for bringing this up, before he finally smiled and shook his head. Still holding on to her hand, he led her up the stairs, and she lifted her long skirts with her free hand, trying to ensure that she wouldn't trip and fall while climbing up.

"Your shoes certainly are special, aren't they?" he remarked as he glanced down at her raised skirts, the glint of crystal having caught his eye. "They look like…glass. It's the first time I've seen such a pair," this staircase seemed to be never-ending. She had been climbing and climbing for what felt like ages, and still they were only halfway up to the next floor. The prince did not seem prepared to slow down his pace, either, and she was struggling a little with the length of her dress now.

"My mother gave them to me," she answered, and the conversation ended at that as she focused all her attention on not stepping on her dress. Finally, she reached the last step, and sighed in relief as she saw the third floor spreading out before her. "Are you going to show me more sights, more of your whims and fancies?" she asked, her free hand reaching up to her face to adjust her mask. He glanced at her mask, gaze lingering, but looked away once she was done with her adjustments.

"I'll show you the throne room next," he stated, leading the way forward with her hand still in his grasp. She didn't know how to feel about him holding her hand, really. "It's the one room most nobles get to see, if they seek an audience with the king. It's a room mostly saved for important events and discussions, but the room has lovely tapestries and it's wide and spacious. The view from the throne room is as good, if not even better, than the window on the second floor," she could hear him smile. Her interest was piqued by the mention of a better view, and he probably knew that she would be keen – that must be why he brought up the possibility of more scenery to begin with.

"I feel like we've walked more than we've seen anything, though simply the decorations around us, in themselves, are beautiful. How big is the palace?" she asked, wondering if she ought to pull her hand out from his grasp. He shrugged, placing his free hand in his pockets – it was remarkably casual behaviour for a prince. She didn't know how she should react to his manner, if she should turn a blind eye to it or question his lack of formality. Even with their family members, the royalty were meant to be…well, proper. They were role models for the kingdom, after all. Not that the prince seemed to be particularly concerned about being a good role model, from what she could see.

"It's pretty big. You can see it from the outside anyway, can you not?" he turned a little, glancing at her from the corner of his eyes. "It took me a year to remember where every single room was, so don't worry if you feel overwhelmed at first. I won't let my…my friend lose her way here constantly," she didn't fail to notice how he hesitated before he said the word friend. It made her wonder if he really did have any friends. Being royalty had to be difficult, especially when one was as young as the prince. She knew that other aristocrats arranged marriages for their children in a bid to expand their power and influence, and keep the old blood pure – Anastasia and Lucinda had discussed arranged marriage before, while in her earshot. Royalty must have it even worse than the nobles, she mused.

"You know I still have not made any promises about moving here, right?" she asked. How would he react to her saying this? He kept behaving as though she was set to move in any time he wanted. "It really is a nice offer, and your palace is gorgeous, but I can't just up and leave. Surely you understand that. My aunt is the only family I have here, after all," she placed the perfect amount of hesitation and apology in her words. He paused, still gripping her hand tightly, and she stopped right after him, awaiting his response. Suddenly, he let go of her hand, turned to face her, and shook his head sadly.

"I hoped I would be able to change your mind. What could a girl possibly desire, if not luxury or romance?" he said plaintively. "I am not unwilling to continue trying. At least allow me to show you the throne room before you make a decision. After this, I will bring you back to the ballroom if you desire. I have rested here long enough – mingling with the guests downstairs should no longer be as big a chore," his voice was filled with distaste. She hid a smile – he was rather amusing, this prince who did not behave like a prince, though she admitted she didn't know how to respond when he behaved in a way that did not befit his station. She was not good with social etiquette. The last time she spent time with nobles in polite society was when she was twelve, and her social skills were a little rusty. The only thing she remembered from those days was that people should behave in a way which matched their social status, and if they did not do that, it could create quite the scandal.

"Very well, show me," she waited for him to walk so she could follow him, so he went on his way. The third floor seemed to be rather empty compared to the second – there were no other doors here, and only a few small windows, nowhere as big or grand as the wide window they saw earlier. The throne room was at what she assumed to be the very end of the hallway – there was only one set of double doors on this floor anyway, from what she could see. Outside those doors, there were two guards, and as they drew closer, the guards stood erect, awaiting them with their spears.

"Your Highness," they greeted when the prince came close enough. He waved his hand, telling them to drop the formalities. They glanced at her, the girl waiting a little distance behind the prince, and looks of curiosity crossed their faces. "Who is this?" the guard on the left asked, gaze flitting between her and the prince. The two guards exchanged a look, almost a _smirk_ , and she instantly figured out what they had assumed – that she was the girl the prince wanted to take as his bride. But they could not be more wrong. The prince must have sensed this too, because for some reason he took off his mask. He was facing the guards, so she could not see his face, but now that his mask was off she was very curious to see what he looked like. He probably wouldn't have ever revealed his face otherwise.

The guards instantly stopped snickering and stood fearfully at attention when they saw the prince's face. He must not look happy, Miku thought. "She is someone I met at the ball, and I'm merely showing her around. I want her to see the throne room. It's the pride of the palace, isn't it?" he asked. His tone was pleasant, but she was sure his voice didn't match the look that was probably on his face right then. "Now you'll let us pass, won't you?" he waited. The two guards nodded quickly and sprang into motion, both of them gripping one of the door handles and pulling hard. The heavy wooden double doors slowly swung open, revealing the throne room which lay beyond.

"Thank you," the prince turned around – but before she could finally see what he looked like, he reached up, placing the black mask on his face once more. She felt a little disappointed about this missed opportunity, but reminded herself that it wasn't necessary to know his appearance. She only needed him as a way to get out of the manor, and his good looks did not come into that plan. "Ladies first?" he suggested, stepping aside so that she could enter the room. She swallowed, suddenly a little nervous – all this fanfare and the guards and double doors seemed to foreshadow something, but it was silly to be nervous about entering a room. _It's not just any room; it's the throne room, the place where the king has his audience with the people of his kingdom_ , her mind supplied unhelpfully. She ignored her consciousness and walked in, the prince following right behind her.

As they entered, the doors swung shut behind her, leaving her inside the throne room with the prince – but she ignored that, awe-struck by the amazing view before her. The carpet of the throne room was rich red velvet, so soft and thick that she could feel her feet sink in a little with every step she took. For some reason, part of the luxurious carpet was boxed by four wooden sticks, right next to the window – the window which, try as she might, she could not tear her eyes away from.

The window was the wall, or the wall was the window, she could not tell. All she knew was that before her very eyes, there was a huge expanse of glass that covered one whole side of the room. And through this expanse of glass, she could see not just the noble townhouses and the little town that lay further away, but all the way out across the open country – the rolling hills and the dark, star-covered sky and the bright silver moon. It was so beautiful that all she could do was stare. The prince was right. The view from here was even better than the one from the second floor.

"Do you like it?" the prince came up from behind her, murmuring into her ear. She didn't respond, she was so taken in by the scenery. It was wonderful, seeing a land far beyond what she imagined. She never knew this was what her town looked like. "Move here and this is what you'll see, every day if you want to. There are so many other things, and you know it – the rose gardens, the stairs, even the windows through which you see this now. There are so many other enchantments that could take your breath away in the palace, if only you would just _stay_ ," his hands crept around her waist, but still she did not notice. He leant in closer now, voice dropping to a soft whisper. "Stay and be my companion, won't you, Cinderella? Let me find out more about you, what goes on in the strange mind that lurks behind that pretty face. If you stay, you'll get me out of trouble with my father too, since he'd have to stop accusing me of not actually trying to talk to people," he added as an aside. She turned to look at him now, eyes wide, and for once she seemed to be totally mute.

"I…" she started, gaze flitting from side to side, but before she could continue the double doors slowly swung open once more, and someone whom he did not want to see at the moment entered the room, folding his arms and staring hard at him. Len groaned, instantly removing his hands from the girl's waist, while she gasped and backed away from the man who was now sharing the throne room with them. "Is that the king?" she whispered to him, nervousness sparking in her green eyes.

"Father," Len greeted the king, leaving the girl with no doubt about the identity of this man. "I was just showing my _friend_ around, since she's never seen the palace. She's a foreigner, the one I talked to you about last night. Now you know that I'm not just making up an imaginary friend so you'll leave me alone," he added, sounding a little spiteful. The king blinked, glancing at the girl in question, who instantly dipped into a low curtsey when their gazes met. She did not dare to raise her head and look into the king's eyes. His father continued staring at her even after she rose from her curtsey, and if Len did not know better he would say that his father looked almost…afraid.

"What's your name?" he addressed Cinderella. "My son tells me that you call yourself Cinderella, but surely that is not your real name?" he tilted his head, the long hair he tied up in his usual ponytail swishing around his waist. Len was not exaggerating earlier when he told the girl his father had hair longer than his. He looked to Cinderella, curious about how she would respond – would she insist that her name really was Cinderella in front of the king himself, or would he finally learn the truth?

She seemed fidgety. "My aunt calls me Cinderella," she finally said, keeping her gaze down. Len frowned – he knew an evasion when he heard one, but his father simply nodded and accepted her answer. Len couldn't believe his father would just listen to her like that, because who in their right mind would call herself Cinderella? But when he opened his mouth to object, his father shot him a warning look and he shut his mouth, albeit sullenly. He was going to have a very good chat with the king later about this matter – the last he checked, they did not tolerate their subjects lying to them.

"Go back to the ball, Cinderella," his father said gently. "The prince was being selfish, taking you away from the celebrations like that. Next time, if you are not comfortable with what he wants you to do, you can simply refuse – he hardly acts like the prince anyway most of the time, so there's no need to award him the respect that comes with his station," Len coughed dramatically at his father's words to indicate that he was still here, and still able to hear everything he said, but he was sadly ignored. "Do you know the way? If not, I can lead you myself. I want the prince to stay here," the king turned to him, deep blue eyes narrowing. "There's something I must speak to you about," he elaborated, and Len nodded grudgingly. He was prepared for a lecture now about evading his princely responsibilities and sneaking off from the ball, but he regretted nothing he did. Besides, Cinderella had not been _that_ reluctant about leaving the ball with him. Maybe just a little…

"I can find my own way, there's no need to trouble you, Your Majesty," she answered quickly, curtseying once more. She was never that polite to him. "The ball is wonderful, I truly am enjoying myself. I am very sorry for trespassing in the palace," she shot him a look, and he bet that if she took off the mask he would see that she was glaring at him. The heat of her gaze seared him.

"Wait. Are you coming tomorrow?" he asked quickly, before she could turn and get back to the ball she so wished to attend. He was rather certain that she only seemed so desperate to be part of the celebrations because of her aunt. He really had to do something about this girl's aunt. She looked quickly between him and his father, who was watching the both of them with keen interest, and she nodded, much to his relief. Then she fled through the double doors back to the passage outside, the doors closing behind her, leaving him in private with his adopted father. Resignedly, he faced the man who saved him three years ago, entirely prepared for a lecture or scolding of some sort.

Instead, his father looked thoughtful, and he walked over to the window that was Len's favourite spot in the entire palace, looking out into the night sky. Slowly, Len walked over to his father's side, looking out of the window as well. From here, he could see what Cinderella saw. It was beautiful, he knew, but he didn't know it was so distracting that she would allow him to touch her that way. It had been quite a surprise that she didn't instantly turn around and slap him. It made him feel somewhat guilty about his actions because he knew that he should not have done that. He didn't even like her – their intimacy was unwarranted. But he really wanted her to stay. He desperately wanted a friend who wouldn't just use him as a stepping stone – someone he could trust and actually confide in.

There was no guarantee that she would not end up like the rest, but he thought there was a better chance she would be someone genuine to talk to than any of the other nobles who attended the ball tonight. "Who is she, really?" his father spoke, finally breaking the silence between them. "Her name is not Cinderella. But she is not willing to reveal her true name. There must be a reason why she's here, why she gave herself such a moniker…and normally, I would fear the worst, I really would."

"You think she's a spy or a traitor?" the moment the words rolled off his tongue, he knew them to be untrue. "That's not possible. Don't ask me why…I just know," he shook his head vehemently. "She simply does not have the ruthless character of a spy or assassin. Besides, a proper assassin would have just killed me or you the very first night of the ball. Why wait all three days?" he questioned.

The king shook his head as well. "I know that. I'm not suspecting her of being an assassin. It's just that there's something terribly familiar about her. I don't want to hope, because I've long thought her dead, but her teal hair and her voice are just too much of a coincidence…" he sighed. Len stared at his father in disbelief, the words he just said registering but not making any sense at all to him.

"Wait. Are you telling me, Father, that you actually _know_ this girl?" he asked forcefully. "You know her? How could you know her? She told me she's a foreigner – she came from overseas at her mother's behest to live with her aunt, who would prepare her for her induction into formal noble society. She's here to look for an aristocrat to marry. You can't possibly know some random stranger who just arrived in our country not long ago, can you?" there was no way his father could find her familiar in any way. She did not have common features. She was not the kind of person one just saw on the streets. So it was impossible that his father might have mixed her up with some other person.

"No, no. If I'm right, if she's really the person I think she is, then…she's lying about her history too. The girl I know, the girl I met when she was just a child, was born here and raised here. Never before has she visited another country – her father was not willing to put a child so young at such huge risk," he paused. Len waited for the king to continue, heart thudding – whatever all this was about, it sounded interesting, and he might finally know something about this mysterious girl that was not a lie or rumour. "You know in my family, I am the last remaining male. I am the only person who can carry on the Kamui bloodline," he stated. "But one of my great-aunts once married into the Hatsune family…" the Hatsunes, Len knew of them. They were highly prestigious, descended from one of the four noble families who founded this kingdom. But they had recently fallen out of favour after the death of the head of family, Hatsune Mikuo. "So effectively, any Hatsune is my distant cousin."

"I don't see what all this is leading up to," Len sighed, running his hand through his blond hair in frustration. The king shot him a smile, not a humorous one but rather knowing, and almost sad. "Are you just going to give me a lecture on family history? I know your family history almost as well as I know my own – I had to learn about the important aristocratic families when I was little since I'm the only son of my family, et cetera et cetera," he resisted the urge to roll his eyes, for that would have been disrespectful in front of the king. Even he had his limits regarding what he would and would not do.

"Did you know that Hatsune Mikuo and his daughter, Hatsune Miku, both had teal hair?" the king asked. At that, Len's eyes widened, and he whipped around to face his father, listening intently now. "Hatsune Mikuo died in a fire six years ago. He was my cousin, and a rather good friend of mine as well. I visited him frequently before I became busy, deciding that I would try and claim the right to the throne," he sounded wistful. "I stopped visiting them after Miku turned six…that was twelve years ago, she would be the same age as you if she's still alive," he added. Len's thoughts were racing – how old was Cinderella? Did she ever mention her age to him? "According to his widow, Hatsune Miku died in the same fire as her father. But even after all these years, I remember her voice. She always had the loveliest, sweetest voice for a six-year-old. And her teal hair as well…she has to be Hatsune Miku. This is all too much of a coincidence. And she looks the right age, too."

"So you think Cinderella is this Miku girl, and she's posing as someone else at this ball for a reason?" he asked slowly, to make sure he was getting everything right. His father nodded. "If she really is a dead girl come back to life…that might explain why she's so reluctant to remove her mask, or to move into the palace even after I asked repeatedly," he realised. "Do you think she remembers you? Is that why she didn't want you to escort her back to the ball, for fear you will recognise her for who she really is?" he didn't really want to believe all this because it seemed so…unbelievable, for lack of a better word to use. It was all so coincidental that it seemed like a setup. His father shook his head.

"No, she was young when I ceased visiting my cousin, her father. She probably does not remember who I am. Even if she does, I have grown older since she last saw me. She probably does not recognise the man standing in the finery of a king," he laughed. It was almost bitter. "Mikuo was a good friend of mine, and someone I was proud to call my cousin. He was wise for his age and quick-witted – he brought the Hatsune family to new heights, and with his death, they came crashing down. He saved my floundering textiles business when I needed help the most, when all my other backers had disappeared with my funds. I owe him. At the very least, I need to find out if Cinderella really is his missing daughter – and if she is, why is she hiding herself? I want to help her," he said earnestly, meeting Len's gaze. Len had to hold his breath at the intensity in those blue eyes.

He could not help but be moved by his father's story. And, as his adopted son, he had his duties. He owed the king, Kamui Gakupo, a debt that he doubted he would ever be able to repay. This man was both father and king, and he knew that he could not just watch his father wrack his brains thinking of ways to communicate with this mystery girl. Len was depressed, Len was once suicidal, but he knew how to repay people for treating him well, and his father had done exactly that. "I'll help you," he offered, much to the king's surprise. "I have spoken to her before. You know of my situation with her – I am trying to convince her to move in with me as a friend. If she accepts, then we will have more opportunities to find out more about her and her situation. It'll be easier than you trying to build a relationship with her from scratch – besides, you are the king. You have no time, whereas time is something I have an excess of," he pointed out. His father seemed to hesitate at the suggestion.

"I would not want to burden you with my personal problems," he explained quietly, placing one hand against the cold glass panels. Len could see grey clouds beginning to creep in, obscuring the moon and the stars – it might be a sign of rain later. "I want you to focus on finding someone, Len. It has been too long...three years is too long for anyone to pine. I know you have your sights fixed on this Cinderella girl, but I meant a bride, Len, not a mere companion. Besides, if she's really the Hatsune Miku I knew, I doubt she'll have enough free time to accompany you while we unravel the conspiracy that surrounds her. I especially want to know why her stepmother claims she's dead…"

"Father, you just want me to distract myself from my grief, right?" he pointed out. The king nodded, turning to face him curiously. "Then let me solve this mystery on your behalf. It'll provide plenty of distraction, believe me," he said firmly. The king seemed to be considering. "You want this settled quickly, right? Allowing me to handle this on your behalf will be faster than you attempting to solve it yourself, and it will give you the time you need to settle your usual daily affairs," he concluded, knowing that his argument and logic were sound. After some deliberation, the king finally nodded.

"Very well. Don't fail me then, my son. I trust you," he placed a firm hand on Len's shoulder. "You really can help me get to the bottom of this?" suddenly, for the first time he could recall, his father looked almost vulnerable. He was usually strong and sharp, and he was the one who helped Len out of his previous suicidal mentality. This new, softer side of his royal father was one he was unused to, and it made him think of the fear he saw on the king's face when he first saw Cinderella. He knew he had to repay this man, who had essentially given him a new life – though at that time it was not a life he wanted – and gave him anything and everything he desired. He was the prince now, and he had a duty towards this man. But it also went beyond just national loyalty and familial affection – after hearing his father's story, he felt almost morally obligated to help see this tale to its very conclusion.

"Yes, I will," he answered. "It's the one thing I can do to repay you for the extra years of life you forced upon me," he said wryly. "So rest assured, I will do everything in my power to make her stay so we can find out more about her," he hesitated. "I'll even propose to her if needed," he finally said, "like you suggested. To take a bride out of duty rather than love. This is my duty fulfilled."

His father outright beamed. "Thank you, my son," he nodded, sheer, overwhelming gratitude so noticeably present in his expression that Len almost had to look away. "I hope for our sakes that this is quickly resolved. This has been haunting me for years – the thought that I could have possibly done something to prevent the tragedy. Now, there's a chance that my niece is still alive. I must help her out of the ashes – the Hatsune family must rise to their former glory. They are little more than a name and a manor now, with a moderate fortune – more on the level of the Shion family than one of the old Four. Their name still commands respect, but how long will mere reputation last if a noble family winds up destitute? None of the women left in the family are working. Their fortune will not last. But I admit I am not concerned about the fates of those who married into the Hatsune family, only those with their blood. I only want to help Mikuo's daughter because of the debt I owe," the king sighed. "I will not be able to rest easy knowing that I have never returned the favour he did."

"Don't worry, Father," Len stepped away from the window, heading towards the entrance of the throne room. His father turned to watch him leave. Right before he stepped out, he turned back and shot the king a knowing grin. "You know I can be charming when I want to be. That girl probably should not be _too_ difficult to seduce. Once she's willing to move in here with me, we'll know the truth. It's just a matter of time," though he was not looking forward to marrying someone he barely knew, no matter how entertaining she was. "Meanwhile, I will return to the ball to look for her, and hopefully enjoy myself while I'm at it. You might wish to partake of the festivities as well."

Then he knocked on the doors, slipping out of the throne room as soon as the gap was big enough. He ignored the guards when they asked him why the girl earlier had left in such a fluster. Len knew he had to look for Cinderella now, and he had to do so urgently – but this time, it wasn't just for his own sake. It was for his father's sake as well. And Len was determined not to let him down.


	6. Chapter 6

The night was still early, and she didn't feel like returning to the manor yet. The pantry was still severely lacking food, so she had few options to work with for supper. It wouldn't take that long for her to prepare the same meal for the stepsisters as last night – bread, cheese and some milk.

She was standing by a marble pillar, watching the couples dancing on the floor. A server passed by her, offering her a drink, and she declined. She had never drank wine before, and she did not want to try. Lucinda acted in the most ridiculous manner when she was drunk, and she would not risk the same thing happening to her at the ball. The server simply nodded and moved away from her.

She wanted to dance. She could feel her body swaying slightly as the orchestra played. They were playing a light, lively tune now, perfect for laughing and twirling. She could imagine herself on the floor, like the rest of the dancers, exchanging partners and smiles and spinning around and around until she spun right back into the arms of her first partner. But who would her first partner be?

An image of the prince, with his cerulean eyes and knowing smile – a borderline _smirk_ – flitted through her mind, and she blinked. He was a good dancer, she admitted. Last night, he led the dance perfectly, and seemed perfectly at ease with the steps and motions of each piece. He was one of the best dance partners she ever had, not that she had many to compare him to. Her father too was a wonderful dancer, and when he was in a playful mood he liked to pick her up and twirl her around, her mother laughing and clapping as they romped around rambunctiously in the drawing room.

Her eyes felt like they were misting up, and she blinked rapidly, wiping the moisture that leaked from underneath her eyelids away from her face. Thinking about the past would bring her nothing but sadness and longing; she would have to let go, she had to look forward to the future and think about her plans. She could reminisce about the past when she was free from the mansion, when she was no longer at the beck and call of her stepsisters. Then, she could do whatever she wanted.

"Good evening," she jumped a little, startled by the sound of someone speaking to her. She turned to face the speaker, and her eyes widened – there stood her stepmother, dressed in black like her, a netted veil covering half her face. She looked stern and imposing, and Miku's first thought was that her stepmother had discovered her identity, and was about to reprimand her and force her to go home and await her punishment. "I am sorry, but you look rather familiar to me…may I know which family you're from, my dear?" her stepmother suddenly smiled, and Miku felt relief flood through her body. So her stepmother still did not know who she really was, then. But now she had to think of a name that was not her true name or her nickname. What should she call herself now?

"My name is…" she hesitated for the briefest of moments, then made up her mind and carried on, "Kamui Miki, it is a pleasure to meet you, Lady…?" she paused here, lingering as if she did not know what her stepmother's name was. Her stepmother seemed rather surprised at her false identity.

"I am Lady Hatsune, the head of the Hatsune family. Not that there is much of a family left," she laughed, sounding bitter. Miku did not comment, though she was tempted to blame her stepfamily for the decline of the family legacy. "Kamui…" her gaze lingered on her, making her feel uneasy. "Are you related to the king, then?" she asked. Miku blinked. The king? Was he a Kamui? She did not know there was a connection between the royalty and the name she chose. She only used the name Kamui because it came to her from some distant memory – the name was rather familiar, as though she knew someone from the Kamui family, but she could not recall whom. Her recollection of the name came from so long ago that she didn't even know how old she was when the memory formed.

"I am…a distant relative," she fibbed, figuring that her stepmother wouldn't even talk to the king and ask about her anyway. "I came to stay with an aunt, from my mother's side. I am not from this land," she curtseyed, behaving as politely as she could – if she allowed her unhappiness with her stepfamily to manifest in this situation, her stepmother would surely begin to suspect something. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Hatsune. I hope I have the delight of your guidance through this new land," she kept her gaze downwards so her stepmother would not see the distaste on her face.

"Spare the formalities, Lady Kamui," her stepmother responded, in what Miku had to admit was a most gracious manner. "I came to speak to you because I found you rather familiar…you look like a girl I know, back in my manor. She has the same teal hair as you, as well as your green eyes. You even sound somewhat like her. But she can't possibly be at the ball, since she has no transport here nor does she have anything to wear to the palace. Otherwise, I might have thought you were her."

"A girl in your manor?" Miku asked, injecting curiosity into her words. "Is she your daughter, this girl? Or merely a servant? If she is your daughter, surely it would not be surprising for her to come to the ball with you," she ran a hand down her braid, smoothing the wispy strands of teal which had escaped the tight plait. Her stepmother watched her move her hand, still looking rather curious. Miku wished she could quickly conclude the conversation and move away from here, because the more she spoke to this woman the more likely she was to figure out her true identity. But she did not know how to end their exchange, and simply resorted to seeming as uninterested as she could possibly be without being outright impolite. She sincerely hoped her stepmother would get the hint.

"She is just a servant," her stepmother finally answered. Miku knew she would say that – there was no way anyone from her stepfamily would claim any relationship to her, be it through blood or marriage. "I only have two daughters, and they're both at this ball tonight. Perhaps you will meet them. They are both rather interested in you, Lady Kamui. Many people want to speak to you."

"I cannot, for the life of me, understand why. I am a mere girl, and there is nothing very interesting or special about me," she lied through her teeth because she knew she was most unordinary, but it was unbecoming to blow one's own trumpet, she knew. Noblewomen were expected to be demure, humble and gentle. They did not speak of their own merits, and when other people complimented them, it was best to either be thankful and appreciative, or to deny they had those merits at all.

"You caught the prince's attention, and that is not something many girls can claim to have done," her stepmother responded, tilting her head as if to study her closely. "You danced with him all night last night, and tonight people are whispering about how he left the ballroom with you. There are rumours abound that he has his sights set on you to become his wife. Many girls are jealous of you," she shook her head, a smile creeping over her face. "Young love and adoration! It makes me wish I could be young again, seeking the attention of the charming prince but only ever gazing on from afar."

"I am merely fortunate," she lowered her gaze, "and he is interested in me because I am a foreigner. He speaks to me about travelling, and I am most willing to listen for his stories are extremely fascinating. He would gladly entertain any other lady as well, as long as they are willing to listen to him," which was a complete lie, but her stepmother didn't have to know that. Her stepmother appeared to be a little disbelieving as well, giving her another curious look, but she did not question her words.

"I see…" she murmured. "Well, I hope you enjoy yourself for the rest of the night, Lady Kamui. It was a joy meeting someone as well-mannered and delightful as yourself. Perhaps, if you wish, you could come to my manor in the future and we can have a nice chat over a cup of tea and scones. One of our servants bakes excellent scones, you must come and try them some day," she offered. Miku nodded and smiled, knowing exactly which servant her stepmother referred to – it was true that the scones she baked were delicious – and, after bidding her farewell, she was finally able to escape. She let out a sigh of relief, glad that she was finally away from the woman and her incessant questions.

She looked around, wanting to ensure that she would not be cornered by Anastasia or Lucinda after getting away from their mother. Anastasia was standing with a group of other noble ladies, who were all chattering away about some matter – given that Anastasia was among them, it probably involved knitting or gardening or some other equally dull activity. Lucinda was at the other end of the ballroom, attempting to dance with an unfortunate young nobleman – unfortunate for Lucinda was a poor dancer, and she kept stepping on the poor man's feet. Miku snickered at the sight.

"My dear lady, I realised that you never gave us your name," once again, someone startled her. This time, it wasn't her stepmother, but she still found the voice vaguely familiar – it took her a few seconds to place the voice, then her memories clicked together and she could attach a name and face to the person. She turned to face him, a smile prepared for conversation. The young lord who gave her a ride to the palace on both nights of the ball so far beamed back at her, clearly excited.

He was a handsome young man, tall and dapper with bright blue eyes, an enthusiastic smile and dark, navy hair which flopped carelessly over his forehead. She might have been more attracted to him, but she could not help thinking of him as a clumsy little puppy, seeking her attention. It was not that she looked down on him or anything of that sort, of course – she merely preferred to be spoken to in a less excited manner. Seeing someone so clearly delighted to meet her made her feel strange.

"My name is Kamui Miki," now that she finally managed to come up with a name for herself, it slipped off her tongue much easier, the words flowing so naturally that she almost thought of it as her real name. "My family chose not to come to the ball tonight, actually," she added, in case he said he wished to speak to the aunt she claimed to live with. "My aunt is feeling poorly, so my uncle remained at home today to stay with her. I was sent here alone, so once again, I had no transportation. They told me to come and find you if I wished to go to the ball, since you offered to send me all three nights. I do hope that I am not intruding," she said politely, curtseying to him.

"No, of course you're not!" he answered vehemently, and she flinched back slightly, shocked by the sudden energy in his words. "You're most definitely welcome to take my carriage again – tomorrow night, and whenever else you might want," he hesitated. "I hope my fervour does not make you feel uncomfortable?" he asked, and she wondered if he had noticed the anxious look on her face. She was unaccustomed to being shown so much attention, at least not on such a personal level.

"I'm very well, thank you. You flatter me with your words," she smiled, clasping her hands together. She hoped he was not here to invite her to a dance. She really did not want to dance with all those wondering strangers now, at least not without the prince – at least, when the prince was around, no one dared to come up to her and ask her anything. She did not think that this young lord would hold the same sort of influence. "Any lady would be absolutely taken with your compliments, Lord…?"

"Oh, yes. You never got my name either, did you? Mother was monopolising the conversation," he realised, laughing softly. "My name is Shion Kaito, though you probably already knew I was from the Shion family. Mother is proud of our heritage," she could tell he wanted to roll his eyes, but politely refrained from doing so in front of her. "As for you, Lady Kamui…are you relative to the king?" his eyes widened. "He is a Kamui too, in fact. But you say that you are from overseas…and there are no families with the Kamui name living in the area, at least none that I know of."

Lord Shion seemed confused, not that she would blame him. "I am a Kamui from my father's side of the family," she hastily made up, "and I came to stay with my aunt, from my mother's side. The Lady Hatsune," she added, not knowing any other woman amongst the nobility and not wanting to make up some other name again. Shion Kaito would be harder to bluff than her stepmother. Her stepmother married into nobility, and was originally from a middle or lower class working family. Shion Kaito, no doubt, was an aristocrat from birth, and probably knew the history and bloodlines of the nobles around him. If she just threw out some random name, it would definitely make him suspicious.

"Oh, the Dowager Duchess Hatsune is your aunt! You are indeed a true noble," taking hold of her hand, he kissed it, surprising her. "But you say your aunt is ill, and your uncle is taking care of her?" he questioned, a frown crossing his face. "Is she not right there? I saw her speak to you moments ago – and from what I heard, isn't Lady Hatsune a widow?" for a moment, she panicked internally, not knowing how to get her way out of this. The young lord looked at her quizzically, completely unaware of the dilemma his questioning was putting her through. Taking a deep breath, she planned out her tale, making sure that the story she hastily fabricated would have no loopholes to exploit.

Then she smiled at him. "Well, my aunt _was_ ill before I arrived, which was why I had no transport once again, but shortly after I arrived at the ball, she decided she felt well enough to come down and observe me for herself. She wants me to marry a nice nobleman, you see. She feels that it is past the age for me to be married," which was true, since many young ladies were married by the time they were sixteen. "As for my uncle…" she lowered her voice, and Lord Shion had to lean in closer to listen to her, "there is a man courting her! She seems quite fond of him, but she does not wish for anyone to know about him yet. When I mentioned my uncle to you, it was an unfortunate slip of the tongue. They seem set to marry soon, and he allows me to call him uncle though they have not had a formal union yet. His identity must be kept secret to protect my aunt's reputation, I hope that you can understand why, but he is a pleasant, friendly man and I really do see him as my uncle now."

He nodded. When she mentioned that her aunt wanted her to marry a noble earlier, his eyes lit up with interest, and she hoped that he would not talk to her stepmother about her niece looking for a man to marry. That would raise many awkward questions. "Oh, and Lord Shion? Regarding the matter of my marriage – I would prefer it if you did not talk to my aunt about that, she is extremely particular about the nobleman I should end up marrying and would be most displeased to hear that I am speaking of my hopeful engagement so casually," she stared into his eyes intently, desperately hoping that he would listen and agree. He shot her a puzzled frown, but nodded again to her relief.

"You seem to have quite a complicated family, Lady Kamui!" he observed. "Why did your mother send you all the way here instead of simply arranging a marriage for you where you were? Of course, I do not complain about meeting you, but one is curious about your family's rather…convoluted way of doing things," he explained, still with that puzzled look on his face. When he asked her about her mother, a small lump formed in her throat, and she wanted to say that it was because her mother was in a faraway place she could not reach – that was why she was sent to her aunt. It was the truth, after all. Her mother was dead, and Miku would not see her until she herself died a natural death.

Before she had to explain though, she heard the prince exclaim in delight, and he sounded like he was uncomfortably nearby. She turned – there was the blond haired prince, standing only a few steps away from her, looking at the man she was speaking with as though he was an old friend. For all she knew, they were old friends. "Lord Shion!" the prince called, a beam on his face. "I have not seen you in…a year, perhaps? How are you, are you and your family doing well?" he sounded most unlike what she was used to, and she couldn't help but stare at him in shock. He ignored her.

"Oh, I'm doing very well, Your Highness," the navy haired man bowed deeply before the prince. "My father sends you his blessings. Unfortunately he could not attend the ball as he is still overseas on business, trying to negotiate with the fishermen. The strikes keep continuing, my father told me that the fishermen speak of demons and monsters in the sea. Of course, it is all mere nonsense, there are no such things as monsters," he laughed a little, while the prince looked rather thoughtful. Miku found Lord Shion's story quite compelling – though the young lord seemed to scoff at the tale, she was quite interested in travelling overseas and listening to the stories and legends of other people. She wondered what sort of monsters these fishermen saw.

"Indeed, you are right, Lord Shion. The only monsters there are in this world are human men themselves, after all," the prince finally said, a remarkably philosophical comment that Miku had honestly, until now, thought him incapable of. At that statement, Lord Shion looked slightly uncomfortable, but the prince merely beamed again and patted him on the shoulder. "Well, do enjoy yourself, and pass my greetings on to Viscountess Shion," the prince smiled. "As well as to The Viscount of Chalice, when he returns. It has been a long time since he and my father last spoke."

Lord Shion nodded. "I will let my parents know," he cast both of them a lingering look before he turned and walked away. Miku stared after his retreating back, and only looked up when the prince waved his hand before her face. She blinked, glancing at him – he looked almost entertained, though she could not imagine what he could possibly find amusing. She was quite tempted to glare at him, actually – she could hardly believe she just ran into the king, much less spoken at all to him. The _king_ , and she had been utterly unprepared.

"Are you smitten, Cinderella?" the prince asked. "Lord Shion is a nice man, perhaps a little stick-in-the-mud for my preferences, but he is pleasant and easy to take advantage of…well, that's a secret from me to you," he grinned. "And his father is the Viscount of Chalice, which should satisfy your aunt I suppose. His peerage can be traced back for generations. Or, if that is not sufficient," he placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her slightly to face the dancing crowd, "that man there with the blond hair standing by the pillar is Earl Akita Nero, son of the Marquis of Ashtonbury. Or over there, the one with the silver hair and strange eyes – The Viscount of Lexane, son of the Marquis of Archex, Utatane Piko. I could introduce you to anyone you want, Cinderella, if only you'd move to my palace."

She knew there had to be a point to that long-winded spiel. "And what of yourself, Prince Romeo?" she asked coquettishly, curious about his own title. After all, if he was adopted three years ago, then surely he must hold multiple titles. "What esteemed peerage do you come from?" at her question, he stilled, and for the longest time he said not a word. She began to wonder if he was offended by her.

"Me? Nothing much, really. I'm just the prince," he sounded stiff. "Prince of Denvy, Earl of Ginshire, all the titles that come with being son of the king. You should know them," he tilted his head. "Technically, I'm not supposed to have all those titles. I'm adopted, after all. But there is no other heir apparent, nor does my father have any interest in starting a family, much to the scandal of the ministers. So I am in line to the throne now," he took his hand off her shoulder. "As for my personal peerage, those are of the past. I no longer desire to hold those titles," he said, voice very quiet.

It sounded like this was a sensitive issue. She knew it would be better not to probe, so she directed the conversation towards a more light-hearted topic. "Oh, that's fascinating to know – however, I did not know about the prince's titles. I'm a foreigner, remember?" she stepped away from him, still playing the part of the kittenish girl. Some look crossed the prince's face when she said that – a look that flitted across his face so quickly that she almost missed it – and he grinned again, the previous solemnness he had fallen into entirely gone. It was so unlike him to be formal or proper, at least from what she knew of him. When he was speaking to Lord Shion, it was the first time she ever saw him behave like a prince.

"Indeed, you are! And that makes for lively conversation," he answered, looking out at the dancing couples. "The night is young, and I wish to be entertained. Could you, perhaps, bless me with a dance?" he bowed, extending his hand. She knew it would be rude to reject since he was royalty, and besides she _did_ wish to dance, so she took hold of his hand and allowed him to lead her to the floor. She would only be able to dance a few pieces before she had to leave, but she would make sure that she enjoyed herself to the fullest. After all, tomorrow was the last night of the ball.

They danced in complete silence for a while, just moving and twirling quietly as the sounds of the orchestra music flowed over them. She was so used to the steps – she knew these songs, they were what she danced and practiced to when she was a child – that she could afford to pay attention to other things. She saw the colour and elegance of the women and their dresses, the charming smiles of the men and their wit and manner – she saw the lights and marble of the ballroom and the sounds of laughter and music and making merry. It was a delightful atmosphere, one she failed to appreciate fully yesterday due to her panicking over the prince paying her such special attention, and worrying over the consequences of her actions and words. Tonight, she was relaxed, and that showed itself in the smile on her face and the fluidity of her movements. Len was surprised by just how much more graceful she seemed – she was a good enough dancer last night, but now she moved with an elegance which defied his expectations.

"What do you think of my father?" he decided to ask. Was the king correct in saying that she did not remember him at all? She looked up at him, obviously startled out of the comfortable silence that was between them – at least, it appeared to be comfortable for her, seeing how absorbed she was in the dancing. He did not feel as immersed. He was still distracted, thinking about the improbable story his father shared earlier. Truly, what were the odds? The Hatsune family…he had not heard anything of them ever since the head of family died, six years ago. He didn't even think he would meet a Hatsune in his lifetime, their family was so small. It was said that there was a curse on the family, for every single generation only ever had one son, perhaps two at the most. The Hatsune line would have stopped with the late Duke since he died without a male heir, unless his daughter married one of the other noble families with Hatsune blood somewhere far back in their lineage – but then, their daughter was dead too. And with the only Hatsunes left being the woman who married into the family and her daughters, it would appear that there was no true Hatsune blood remaining, and the family legacy would eventually die out, becoming a mere fragment of history.

Yet here, this girl he was dancing with, this girl who so adamantly refused to reveal her true name, might be the last Hatsune, the only person left to inherit a legacy of fame and fortune. The Hatsunes were always the most prominent out of the four great families, the other three being the Kamui family, the Sakine family and the Kagamine family. It made him think about how far the mighty had fallen. Perhaps there was something to be said about the apparent curse the Hatsunes suffered.

"Your father? His Majesty, the king?" Cinderella looked surprised to be asked such a question out of the blue, not that he could blame her. "I think he is extremely polite…as befits a king," she said carefully, obviously wary since he was the adopted son of the man they were discussing. He nodded, indicating that he wished for her to continue, and she cleared her throat. "I did not know his name when I first saw him in the throne room, but some people have mentioned to me that he is from the Kamui family, which is one of the four founding families of this country. He must be a very remarkable person."

"Indeed, he is remarkable," he echoed. "But all of the founding families are remarkable, wouldn't you say so? They must be, if even a foreigner like you knows of them," he eyed her, wondering if she would hesitate and make up something to cover up her knowledge of their history. The founding four were common history among the nobility, every noble child knew the story, but it was local history – not something that he expected a foreigner to know about. Given that she did not even know his appearance or his personal background or who the king was, he hardly expected her to know about the four families. It was suspicious.

However, her reply was smooth and poised, as though she had been expecting him to question her. "I asked the people I spoke with why they seemed so awed at the Kamui name, and they told me about the history of this country. I listened with rapt attention, for it pleases me to learn," her fingers dug into his shoulder, and he almost winced. It was as if she was trying to get, in some small petty way, revenge on him for probing so much into her identity. She was, from what she had shown so far, not stupid – she was probably aware that his words indicated some doubt regarding her claimed identity. "I know of the other three families as well. The Kagamines, the Sakines and the Hatsunes. This all interests me greatly – would you like to tell me more about each family, Prince Romeo?"

"Gladly," he smiled, wondering if he could somehow trick her into letting something slip. He really did not believe that she was a mere foreigner who happened to have teal hair and looked like she was the same age as the deceased Hatsune daughter. It was much too coincidental, and Len did not believe in mere coincidence. "The Sakine family is hot-headed, but they are generous and have good hearts. The counties over which they hold rule love them dearly. They are the lowest ranked out of the four founding families, if the four can even be ranked at all. The families all hold the peerage of Duke and Duchess, but…the Sakine family presides over the fewest counties, I suppose."

"What of the others?" he steered them easily away from the larger crowd, towards an area with fewer people – mostly the older aristocrats, who showed less interest in either him or her, more interested in building ties and relationships with others of their noble rank. The two of them ended up near the window, which was not as well-illuminated as the rest of the ballroom. Perhaps they would have some privacy here, and he would not have to deal with other noblemen trying to ease their way into taking over his place and dancing with Cinderella. He had no time for such theatrics.

"The Kamui family only has one son, who is my father, the king. Technically, he has nephews and nieces, but these nephews will come behind me in line for the throne. The king has specifically named me his heir, much to their displeasure," he laughed sourly. "They have one county more than the Sakine family. After that…the Kagamine family," he paused, the name falling flat on his tongue. He still called himself a Kagamine, unwilling to totally accept his role of the prince and take on his adopted father's family name. Technically, Len was still the Marquis of Kinsen, since his father had no right to take away his title, but it was a title that he would never use, personally. It brought back too many memories of a time gone past, and not all of those memories were entirely pleasant.

"You seem to be unsure of yourself. Could it be that your knowledge of your own history is not as up to par as it seems?" she asked, almost sly. His smile returned – she was unlike many other aristocrats indeed. The faint moonlight that shone through the window illuminated her face, leaving the rest of her body in darkness. He was suddenly quite tempted to reach over and yank away her mask. He was so curious about what she looked like. Green eyes, teal hair, pale skin…she cut a striking figure, and her mask only added to her air of ambiguity. Perhaps that was why he found her so intriguing.

"No, I am simply gathering my thoughts," he pursed his lips. "The Kagamine family. Where do I start? They have a legacy for sure," he said blithely. "The Duke of Fendley has many titles to his name, the Marquis of Kinsen being one, along with the Viscount of Venin and Earl of Insidia. It's a pity they have no heir apparent. But the Duke is young and he will have time to marry another woman, who might perhaps bear him a son. I do not know," Len turned away from her, looking out of the window. "Nor is it my business to care," he added. "As for the last family, the Hatsune family…well, they used to be highly favoured, they were loved by their people. But from what I heard, the head of family died six years ago and the entire bloodline has been in disarray ever since. I don't know what Dowager Duchess Hatsune is doing, but from rumours among the aristocracy, the family is going to disappear. And then we'll be left with three founding families. It's tragic, don't you agree?"

He shot her a sideways glance, trying to see if his words had affected her in the slightest. But with that infernal mask on, he had no idea what she was thinking. "It does sound rather upsetting," she agreed, voice perfectly placid. "Does the Hatsune family not have any descendants at all? You speak of a dowager – surely she had some sons or daughters," she observed. A hint of doubt sprang up in him – was she just a good actress or was she truly unaware of the Hatsune family's situation? He thought that by bringing up her tragic family history she might be incensed to defend her family's honour, but that did not appear to be happening. Perhaps his father was wrong…but no, he did not believe that his father would have suspected her for nothing. There had to be more to this girl.

"She married into the family after the death of the previous Duchess, and from what I know, she and the late Duke had no children," he answered her. "In fact, some people question her standing in the family…she was not from another noble family, and people doubt her. They say a commoner has no place in the house of nobles, and that she lacks the proper knowledge and etiquette to maintain the dukedom," he repeated the rumours he heard from other aristocrats when they had their audience with the king, discussing the downfall of one of the country's greatest families. "If only the Hatsune bloodline did not die out! The late Duke had one daughter, but she's dead too, I heard. No one ever heard anything about her. The king would recognise her right to the title. She's the only child, after all. And if she took the title of the Duchess of Cante, no one would question her appropriateness."

"Dead?" the girl repeated, now sounding confused. "How did she die? Was she ill?" here was his first hint that perhaps she was who they thought she was. She didn't just sound confused – she sounded almost accusatory, as though she could not believe the girl they were speaking of was dead. And why would anyone behave that way unless they were not truly gone? He hid a smile, still looking out of the window so that he did not have to meet her gaze and she would not see the knowing smirk on his face.

"People say she perished in the fire which…killed," he was reluctant to use such a word in this setting, but he could come up with no other euphemism, "her father, six years ago. She was in the same summer cottage as her father, apparently he was on business there. Neither of them got out of the house in time," she stayed silent, and after a few moments he turned to look at her, curious about her lack of reaction. He saw that she was staring intently at the floor, hands clasped together. "Are you all right, Cinderella?" he asked, a little concerned now. This did not seem like characteristic behaviour from her. He was used to her witty comments and her sharp, almost doubtful questions – this strange quietness was most unlike her. Even while standing before his father she had not been totally silent.

"Yes, I'm fine," she looked up, a smile plastered onto her face. He could tell it was fake. He had three years to get used to forced smiles and faked laughter. "I just…need to be leaving now. My aunt will be curious about where I am. She does not like me to stay out late," she curtseyed, making him think back to last night when they first met and she was nervous, perhaps even scared of him. And he knew that something was most definitely wrong, something had affected her during the course of their conversation. It made him all the more certain that, even if she was not the supposedly dead Hatsune Miku, she was involved with the missing duchess somehow, and he would get to the bottom of it. He gave his father his word. "I will see you again tomorrow, Prince Romeo," this was said quickly, and before he could react she turned around, slipping away into the dancing crowd.

"Well, drat," he muttered, staring at the little gap in the crowd through which she had disappeared – a few seconds later, the gap closed up, and she was completely gone. "I was just beginning to uncover hints that she's not a mere foreigner…she has to be the missing girl," he turned to look out of the window once more, hoping that staying in the darkness here would camouflage him and hide him from the other nobles a little while longer. "Cinderella…" the name rolled off his tongue, no longer as awkward for him to say as it was the first time. "I'd like to know you better. You say you want to marry a nobleman, don't you?" he mused. "Perhaps you'd like to marry a prince instead?"


	7. Chapter 7

"Ridiculous," Anastasia muttered as she let herself into the mansion, "utterly ridiculous!" her mother and sister followed her inside, and with an imperious wave of her hand, she sent the coachman away. He bowed low and backed away down the driveway, and she slammed the door shut.

"There will be other men," her mother tried to reassure her, but Anastasia turned on the woman, brown eyes blazing. Her mother flinched, frightened of her daughter's temper. Anastasia was rarely pushed to true anger, but when she became upset, she could be extremely intimidating.

"Other men?" she scoffed. "Other men! You would have me throw aside my whole future and reputation simply to save his pride!" she cried out. Miku came out from the kitchen, finally tiring of all the commotion and wishing to see for herself what was going on. Lucinda simply looked away from her sister and mother, not wishing to have any part in this conflict. To begin with, she had never thought that her boring older sister could possibly have had a fiancé – this shocked her.

"You know that Viscountess Shion and I were merely discussing the possibility of you marrying their son. It was not a definite arrangement," the older woman tried to calm her daughter, who was trembling with anger. "Ultimately, her son said that he is still interested in our family. You might not be the one he wishes to marry, but we will still be united with the Shions – wasn't that what you wished for? For us to be joined with another noble family, so that you will not be destitute when I pass on?"

"It is not merely about my plans now!" Anastasia was screeching, the first time Miku had seen the girl do such a thing. Screeching was Lucinda's forte, not Anastasia's. "To think – to think that Shion Kaito would choose Lucinda over myself! They have never even spoken!" she seethed. "And it does not matter whether or not the decision was finalised – my reputation, it's gone. He declared his intention to marry another woman of our family in front of everyone at the ball!" Anastasia actually broke down here, covering her face with her hands and sobbing. No one knew what to do.

Lucinda, unused to doing anything other than ranting about her older sister, hesitantly reached out to touch Anastasia's shoulder. However, Anastasia shook her hand off and ran from the parlour, tears streaming down her face. She saw Miku standing by the stairs, right outside the kitchen, and her face twisted into an expression of true loathing, a look which Miku gladly returned. "You heard _absolutely nothing_ ," she hissed at Miku, before deliberately shoving Miku aside and rushing away up the stairs. Miku caught her balance quickly, glaring up at the fleeing girl. With such behaviour, it was unsurprising that her engagement was called off. But what surprised her was the fact that she was even promised to begin with, and promised to the young lord she met just earlier, Shion Kaito.

To marry another woman of their family…somehow, she already knew that it was her. She was at the ball too, and she knew that Lord Shion had not even looked at Lucinda once – well, other than the initial look of horror all the noblemen gave the younger stepsister as a result of her disastrous fashion choices – and since she told him that she was her stepmother's niece, he probably decided that marrying her would have the same effect for the Hatsune family as marrying Anastasia.

His attentions flattered her, they really did, but she could not marry him. There was only one person she was willing to give up her singlehood for, and that was not Shion Kaito. She would not marry out of love, for love was not high on her list of priorities. No, if she married, it would only be to serve a greater purpose; besides, she didn't even know if she really wanted to be romantically involved with the prince to begin with. There were no romantic feelings on her side, and it made her wonder if marrying a royal would simply tie her down to the palace. She didn't want to be bogged down with royal affairs and business. She wanted to be free to travel and see the world, not be the princess of the kingdom.

But marriage was also her safest bet…it would be wiser to get the prince's attention first before thinking about ways to delay the formal marriage ceremony. She was sure that, as long as they were engaged, she would be able to leave this mansion, and as long as she and the prince were not formally married before the eyes of the Church, she had a better chance of running away from the palace. After all, the palace wouldn't lock her up the same way her stepsisters did, surely.

But she was getting ahead of herself. It had been two nights and she still had yet to receive anything resembling a marriage proposal from the prince, though he was stubbornly trying to make her move to the palace and take the position of royal entertainer. It was a nice job offer, but she would only accept it as a desperate alternative. Until the third night was over, she would still set her sights on becoming his fiancée. _One step at a time, don't think about the future until you can get away from here_. If she thought too far ahead and convinced herself that marrying the prince was a bad idea, then she would just be stuck in the mansion again until she finally thought up of another plan.

"Anastasia thinks she's so beautiful that no man would ever choose me over her," Lucinda suddenly commented, voice droll. She looked bored. "I tried to make her feel better about her loss to her little sister, but she pushed me away, so it's not my fault. No one can say I didn't try," she looked at both her mother and stepsister, seeking support for her words. When both parties remained silent, she sighed exaggeratedly, clearly impatient. "I am extremely flattered by Anastasia's…ex-fiancé, but I don't even know him! Why should I marry him? Tell him to go back to Anastasia," she commanded her mother. The older woman shook her head helplessly, weak as always before her daughters.

"He has his sights set on you, Lucinda. He told me he absolutely _must_ marry the other young lady of our household, and try as we might, his mother and I were unable to change his mind. I'm afraid you will have to get married to him, dear daughter. Since you and your sister are unable to inherit the Duchess title from me…your standings in nobility are precarious. It is advisable to just take the interest of any noblemen as best as you can," her stepmother advised. Miku could not help but agree with her – for all her weakness and lack of character, her stepmother most certainly knew what she was doing.

Lucinda sighed another exaggerated sigh. "Mother, I don't even know what he looks like. Are you really going to sell your youngest daughter away to a man she doesn't even know?" she retorted, while Miku suppressed a snort, unable to believe just how highly Lucinda thought of herself. To sell her away, as if she was extremely valuable! "Besides, I'm only interested in the prince," she added, and the mention of the prince caught Miku's attention, making her listen again. "After that strange girl left, he spoke to me, you know. We had a short discussion about the family history, and he does seem to be quite interested in the Hatsune family. Or me, specifically. I think I have a chance," she said dreamily, but Miku was too preoccupied with what Lucinda said to think of a stinging remark.

The prince was interested in the Hatsune family…she knew there was something amiss when he started talking about the four founding families, even bringing up the painful fall of her family from power in the process. But the most shocking part was when he mentioned that she, Hatsune Miku, the only daughter of the Hatsune family, was dead. Because the last she checked, she was clearly still perfectly alive and healthy. She had no idea where the rumour about her being dead started, because she most certainly had not perished in…in _that_ fire, and she wanted to know the truth. Who was the person who spread such falsities, and what were their intentions in doing such a thing?

After she found out about the mystery that surrounded her family and her supposed death, she had actually been tempted to tell the prince outright that she was Hatsune Miku, and ask him to rescue her from her ill treatment at the hands of her stepfamily. But there were a few reasons she had not done so. One was her pride – she had always been proud and a strong believer in her own ability, and she wanted to run away using that same ability. Confessing her true identity was something she would probably do if she failed to marry the prince and ended up moving to the palace as simply his companion – if her stepfamily tried to retrieve her from the palace, then she would finally reveal her true identity and shed light on the suffering they put her through, but until then she wanted to succeed because of her own wit and planning, not simply because of a mysterious family legacy.

But it was also more than just her pride. The prince's interest, his mentioning of the rumours…she knew that he was interested in her, then. Perhaps he suspected her identity. But the thing was, how did he know? On the first night he seemed not to doubt her story at all. Maybe the king had said something – and if the king said something, what did he say? It might be helpful to her cause, but on the other hand, she might be wanted for treason. Maybe her father had done something to offend the crown – she didn't know and didn't want to think that way since she believed her father was a good man, but until today she still did not know how the fire which destroyed their summer cottage came about. It could have been the king's personal assassins or the work of some other twisted nobleman, jealous of the Hatsune family's wealth. Either way, until she was certain of the reasons why the prince wanted to know more about her, she would keep mum about her real identity.

It had been an absolute shock, being so closely interrogated by the prince like that – for, though he disguised his words as wit and tales of history, she knew she was being interrogated by him. His questions were careful and probing, and their aim was to make her slip, make her reveal something that would show she was not the foreigner she claimed to be. It was both quick thinking and sheer luck on her part that she had not reacted negatively. In a way, she was thankful for her mistreatment here – because of her mistreatment, she learnt how to suppress her real emotions and put on a façade of calm, and that was simply what she did when the prince's questioning took her by surprise.

Her stepmother was now speaking, and Miku stopped contemplating about her situation, instead listening to what the woman had to say. "He's the tall young noble with the navy hair and blue eyes, Lucinda," her stepmother was now describing the lord for her daughter's benefit. "The son of the Viscount of Chalice. You personally found him rather handsome – I vividly remember that you pointed him out to me and told me that he seems charming. That is Lord Shion, and the man who was supposed to be Anastasia's fiancé," at this description, Lucinda's eyes lit up in interest.

"Oh, so that's Lord Shion?" she glanced away from her mother, facing the staircase now, and from where she stood, Miku could see the look on her face – she was smiling like a cat which had just spotted a bowl full of cream. "That changes things. I would be absolutely delighted to talk to him about his sudden interest in our union at the ball tomorrow," she chirped, excitedly whirling around to face her mother once more. The older woman sighed, clearly relieved that Lucinda had come around.

But Miku was most definitely not relieved. In fact, upon hearing that Lucinda wanted to speak to Lord Shion at the ball tomorrow, she wanted to panic. She had to stop Lucinda and Lord Shion from speaking to each other – if she brought up the issue of their engagement, Lord Shion would no doubt state that he did not wish to marry Lucinda either, he was interested in the Dowager Duchess Hatsune's niece. And that would raise plenty of confusion, because her stepmother had no niece, at least not one who was attending the ball as well. And her ploy would almost definitely be found out.

But if she spent the whole night tomorrow distracting Lord Shion and getting him away from Lucinda, then how was she supposed to talk to the prince? She had to charm him too – which should be easier, now that she knew he was at least _interested_ in her, even if not romantically at the moment. If she continued avoiding all his questions his intrigue might grow to the point where he might actually like her, or at least that was what she hoped would happen. She personally had no experience with love or infatuation, having been locked up in this house since she was young. She did not know how people experienced feelings of attraction, but she knew that attraction probably stemmed from interest, so that was what she set out to do – make the prince interested in her.

She sighed quietly in frustration. Furthermore, there was nothing to prevent Lord Shion from coming to the manor with his carriage early in the evening tomorrow to look for her, now that he thought he knew who she was. That was the worst possible scenario she could envision, and the moment he mentioned the mystery girl with teal hair and said she claimed to be Dowager Duchess Hatsune's niece, sent from overseas…well, nothing good could possibly come out of that. Her best bet would simply be to pray fervently that his good manners and, as the prince put it, his 'stick-in-the-mud' tendencies would ensure that he did not surprise her. Hopefully her luck would not be as abysmal as it usually was. She was fortunate enough to attend the ball twice without rousing her stepfamily's suspicion – maybe her streak of good luck would continue and she would be able to attend again.

It had been a mistake allowing the navy haired lord to find her in the ball. Maybe she should have just stayed outside the throne room, waiting for the prince to come out, instead of going back down to the ball herself – she had managed to find her way alone by asking for directions from anyone she happened to come across, since she knew she just had to keep going down to the ground floor to find the ballroom. Maybe if she had just waited, Lord Shion would not have come to speak to her, since no one dared to approach her when she was with the prince, and she wouldn't be in this mess now.

But it was too late for regrets – she couldn't turn back time, after all. She lifted her gaze and saw Lucinda flouncing away from the parlour in the direction of the kitchen, clearly looking for her supper. She was left alone with her stepmother, who was looking right at her in a way reminiscent of how she stared at her while she was at the ball in the guise of Kamui Miki. Her heart suddenly sped up, and she began to wonder if her stepmother looked at her this way because she had suddenly put two and two together – she promptly glanced at the floor again, breaking their eye contact.

After a while, she heard the sound of footsteps and felt her stepmother brush past her, on the way up the stairs to her room. She kept her eyes down until she was sure her stepmother was gone, and when she finally heard the sound of a door opening and closing in the distance, she exhaled in relief, thankful that she hadn't been found out. She had no idea if her stepmother was actually aware of her presence in the ball, but she would be careful for the whole of tomorrow not to draw any more attention to herself. It was good that Lord Shion had rejected his engagement to Anastasia then, actually – if Anastasia had not been so distraught, maybe her stepfamily would have paid more attention to the mysterious girl at the ball. But now they were more concerned about Anastasia.

She just hoped that Anastasia would not be so distraught that she refused to attend the ball the next night. If that happened then there was no way she would be able to sneak out of the house…or was there? An idea came to mind, and she hurried off to the manor's library to see if her idea was viable. Of course, she didn't know if Anastasia would be staying home tomorrow night or not, but just in case she was, it would be better to prepare now and ensure she had the necessary ingredients.

* * *

Thankfully, the Hatsune household rarely used the herbs they had, and the only herb they lacked was chamomile, which was common enough in the market. Drawing up a list of all the foodstuffs they needed to replenish, she added chamomile at the bottom and sent one of the servants out to get the items.

While the other servants were in the house, doing their work in the day, she busied herself with her herbal concoction. None of the other servants bothered her, and both Lucinda and her stepmother were cooped up in Anastasia's room all day, attempting to comfort the spurned girl, so she was left undisturbed for most of the morning and afternoon. She lifted the lid of the kettle again, checking the liquid, and smelled the calming scent of an herbal tea infusion as the fumes wafted up to her nose. She had added lavender, chamomile, valerian and passionflower, and though the scent of so many different herbs was rather strange, it was also somewhat calming and drowsiness-inducing.

A small smile formed on her face and she placed the lid back on the kettle. The other servants were looking at her curiously, but none of them approached her to ask what she was doing, so she said nothing about what she was brewing either. She spent a few hours last night reading up on the books in their library – her mother was an avid reader in the past, and the library was filled with books on all sorts of different subjects. She had gone to the section with books about gardening and herbs, and started doing research on which herbs had the strongest sedative properties.

Thankfully all of the herbs she decided to use were rather common, and it didn't take long for her to find all the herbs she needed and begin brewing her tea. If, she decided, Anastasia decided to stay at home all night, she would simply feed her stepsister some of her herbal tea and wait for the sedative effect to kick in before she departed for the ball herself. On the other hand, if Anastasia decided to attend the ball…well, perhaps she would still keep the tea. She could always just give it to Lucinda and Anastasia the day after the ball so she could get some peace and quiet – though she definitely hoped that she wouldn't have to stay on in the manor after tonight's ball.

" _Cinderella_!" Lucinda's voice pierced through the air, snapping her out of her idle reverie. She instantly left her simmering tea, leaving the kitchen to answer to her stepsister. Though most of the servants continued ignoring her, all of them used to her treatment by the stepsisters, she saw one or two of them turning to give her sympathetic looks. The servants were employed by her stepfamily and most of them were not really her friends, only her co-workers – but they still felt pity for her. Other than her stepfamily and herself, the servants were the only people who knew how she, the true heir to the Hatsune family legacy, was treated in her family home. Again, she did not seek her family's wealth or reputation; she simply wished to see the world, but she also knew that if she had been older when her parents passed, if her father had not married this new woman, she wouldn't be in this situation.

If only she had been left under the care of a guardian until she was eighteen and able to inherit her father's title without any interference from his new wife…she reached Lucinda's door, the floor above the kitchen, and knocked thrice before she entered. She had barely closed the door behind her when Lucinda started shrieking again, this time wordlessly – she glanced upwards and her eyes widened as she took in her first proper glimpse of the girl today. Lucinda's face was covered in…it seemed almost vulgar to say such a word, but her face was covered in _pimples_ and she looked rather foul, to tell the truth. "Look at my face!" Lucinda screeched. "Look at my _beautiful_ face!"

"What happened?" Miku asked, pressing her lips together and ferociously fighting the urge to laugh. Lucinda seemed too distracted by her outbreak to notice how Miku was shaking as she attempted to maintain her calm. "Your skin was fine just last night. Did you…do something you shouldn't have?"

"I did nothing!" Lucinda spat. "It must have been Anastasia…that _whore_! She was just jealous of me being chosen over her! I always told her she was ugly!" Lucinda picked up one of the jewellery boxes on her dresser and, with yet another scream of frustration, dashed it to the ground at her feet. Miku stared as the box shattered, precious pearls and gems rolling everywhere as the jewellery inside it broke apart. "She gave me some pastries to eat last night. I knew there was something strange going on – she is never so nice to me – but I thought maybe this was just her attempt at losing gracefully so I ate one. When I woke up today, I went straight to Anastasia's room to comfort her as Mother asked me to. I didn't even check my reflection in the mirror! Anastasia wouldn't stop giggling as I fussed over her, so I finally looked into her mirror and this is what I see! My face is utterly ruined!"

Miku listened to Lucinda's agitated story, blinking as she tried to understand the situation at hand. She was not the most talented at herbalism, but she had read books full of herbal knowledge just last night and from what she knew, there didn't seem to be any herbs which could cause such a facial outbreak. Lucinda did not exaggerate how bad her condition was – Miku struggled to prevent herself from staring at any part of her face for too long. For example, there was a whole cluster of large red pimples on Lucinda's left cheek and another triangular formation of pimples on her forehead. They were angry looking, giant red boils, and no amount of powder would cover that up.

"Honestly, Lucinda, in all my knowledge there is no herb which can cause _this_ to occur, and if you suspect that it was something in the pastry Anastasia gave you…" Miku paused. "But where did she get the pastry from?" she asked, puzzled. "Last night, the only food left in the house was bread and cheese and milk. There were no pastries in the pantry. Unless she bought another pastry elsewhere before returning to the house and placed, well, _something_ in it, to make your face…less beautiful," she said tactfully, not wanting to point out just how terrible Lucinda's skin was at the moment.

"She took the pastry from the table at the ball," Lucinda appeared to have calmed down slightly now, though her eyes still flashed with fury. Miku tried her best to keep her gaze away from her nose, where another bright red pimple was throbbing away in the most distracting manner. "She said it was excellent and that she saved me one, which was most strange because Anastasia hates me, just like how I dislike her. Oh, I was such a fool," Lucinda moaned, "to have trusted my sister!"

"Did you ever consider the possibility that your outbreak is merely a coincidence?" because Miku failed to see how Anastasia could have possibly spiked a pastry if it was taken at the ball. It was true that Anastasia's sudden thoughtfulness with regards to Lucinda was unusual, but there couldn't have been anything wrong with the pastry – it was meant for the guests at the ball, after all. And again, Miku had absolutely no knowledge regarding herbs which could possibly cause acne. She didn't think that such an herb even existed. It was impossible for this mysterious pastry to be tainted.

"A coincidence?" Lucinda had gone back to screeching again. "A _coincidence_? Don't be ridiculous! It can't possibly have been a coincidence! How many times has my skin suffered from this affliction? It never has!" she shook her head furiously. Miku, however, knew the truth. Lucinda was highly prone to breakouts, especially when she stood in sunlight. It was just something that Lucinda was unwilling to acknowledge, so she always pretended that her skin was flawless and nothing had ever marred it before. "Anastasia caused this. She said she's not going to the ball tonight, because she does not want to face a man who could love me instead of her. Well," Lucinda said dramatically, drawing herself up to her full height – which wasn't very tall, to be honest – as her eyes flashed with determined fury, "I will stay in the manor tonight as well, and make her wish she had never opted to stay at home!" she declared. Miku kept a smile fixed on her face, though inwardly she groaned.

Luckily she had thought of Anastasia possibly staying at home for the third night of the ball, and luckily she had brewed so much tea that she would have more than enough for both Anastasia and Lucinda. She would probably have just enough left for her stepmother too, since it was likely that the older woman would not attend the ball if her daughters were not going. It would be maybe another hour or two before the tea was ready, which meant she didn't have much time – it was already mid-afternoon, and she would have to start getting ready for the ball by the evening. Maybe she ought to go check on her tea more often from this point onwards, to make sure it was fine.

With a few distracted words meant to comfort Lucinda – who, in all honesty, did not deserve to be comforted given the hell the girl put her through every day – and to excuse herself, she backed out of the room and went back down the stairs to the kitchen. As she walked down the hallway to the stairs though, she felt a prickling feeling on her back. Turning around, she met Anastasia's gaze – the older stepsister had just watched her leave Lucinda's room, and was watching her with something almost like hostility in her eyes. Those brown eyes narrowed, and then she ducked back into her room, slamming the door shut. Miku did not react, but she wondered about her strange behaviour.

Anastasia usually did not pay her so much attention, nor did she watch her this much. Did the older stepsister know that she was the girl at the ball, and was simply choosing not to say so? But that explanation made no sense – why would Anastasia choose to remain silent if she really suspected that Miku was attending the ball in secret? But she could think of no other reason why Anastasia would suddenly treat her with more hostility than usual. Miku had done nothing to wrong the girl.

She went down the stairs back to the kitchen, where she had spent most of her day, just waiting for her tea to reach its maximum potency. Yes, she would pour out enough for three cups – just enough for everyone in her stepfamily. She actually considered whether she should sedate her stepmother as well, whom she did not dislike as much as she did Anastasia and Lucinda, but she decided that it would be better to be safe than sorry, and that since she was going to sedate the stepsisters anyway she might as well do the same to their mother. She would have too much tea left over if otherwise.

The minutes ticked past, and slowly all the servants completed their duties for the day, bidding her farewell as they left the house. She remained in the kitchen, just watching her kettle and waiting as the smell of herbs got stronger and stronger. Finally, as the sun started to set, turning the sky outside the window orange and pink, and as the last servant finally finished his chores and left the manor, she decided that the tea had brewed for long enough, and was now ready for her to serve.

Tossing some sand on the fire, she put on her gloves and grasped the handle of the kettle, taking it away from the fireplace. She would leave the fire to burn out by itself – the fire was already small anyway, it would only be a matter of time before it extinguished itself. Besides, she had never liked fire, and never wanted anything to do with it. She was only so close to fire now because she had no choice – she had to have a heat source to create her herbal infusion. The warmth of the handle radiated even through the thick oven mitts she wore, and she was thankful when she could put the kettle down on the smooth marble counter. She searched around the cups, trying to find the three largest they had.

She found the three cups and placed them next to the kettle. With a deep breath, oven mitts still on, she lifted the kettle and carefully poured the tea out into the first cup. The liquid that came out was a rich, dark amber, and the smell was strangely intoxicating – it was completely unlike anything she had ever smelled before. Instinctively, her nose wrinkled, and when she was done pouring out the liquid into the first cup she quickly pushed the filled cup away from her. Hopefully, the three women she was about to serve the tea to would not pay too much attention to the scent and just drink the tea. After all, whenever she brought Anastasia and Lucinda water, they did not even bother to look at the contents, just grabbing the cup from her and immediately downing everything.

She continued pouring the sedative brew into the other two cups, and hastily looked around the kitchen, searching for a tray to put the cups on – she could only hold two cups at a time, and she didn't want to go down from the rooms to the kitchen to get the third cup. After she found the tray, she placed the now empty kettle aside, making a mental note to clean the kettle and get rid of all the herbs left at the bottom. Then, carefully placing the cups on the tray and balancing the tray on one hand, she went up the stairs in search of the first person who would drink her infusion – Lucinda, the most gullible and most _annoying_ out of the three who made up her stepfamily.

She knocked on Lucinda's door, and heard a sullen "Come in" shortly after knocking. Pushing the door open with her free hand, she glanced inside to see what Lucinda was doing – she was sitting in front of her dresser, staring at her reflection, fingers tracing the large pimples which covered her face. "What do you want?" Lucinda noticed who had come in and turned away from the mirror, eyes narrowing at her suspiciously. Her hands were covering her cheeks, hiding the pimples from view.

"I made a herbal concoction which, according to books, will help you recover from your outbreak as quickly as possible," she answered smoothly. Lucinda's eyebrows lifted in curiosity as Miku came closer, the intoxicating, slightly bitter smell of herbs wafting over from the tray. "In fact, if you rest a while after taking this drink, your pimples might even disappear quickly enough for you to attend the ball tonight," she added slyly, knowing that would no doubt pique Lucinda's interest.

"Really?" Lucinda looked at the cups on the tray then up at her, still suspicious. "Well, I'll believe what you say. Of course you would help me recover. I'm such a darling, and I treat you so well," she simpered, grabbing one glass from the tray and draining it quickly. Miku simply continued smiling, though she was absolutely disgusted by what Lucinda claimed – she was not a darling, and she had never treated Miku well. Lucinda then placed the now empty glass on the dresser, face screwed up in disgust. "It is terribly bitter. What a foul herbal concoction. But I am feeling rather sleepy now…" her eyelids fluttered and she yawned, rising from her dresser. Miku was a little surprised – she had not expected the concoction to take effect so quickly. "I shall rest, and when I wake up, my face will be clear and perfect again, like you say. Now get out of here, I need my beauty sleep," she ordered.

Miku did as Lucinda ordered, though she wished she could snap back at the brat, saying that no amount of sleep would be able to save the ugliness of her face. But of course that would just ruin her plans, so she said nothing. She decided that the next person she would give the drink to would be Anastasia, who would hopefully still be so upset about her broken engagement that she would drink the tea without question. She already created a list of benefits for this tea that she hoped would convince Anastasia to drink it. Anastasia would no doubt be the hardest to persuade.

She knocked on the door, and hearing no answer, she pushed it open and entered the room. Anastasia was sitting on her bed, back facing the wall as she did something with her hands – presumably more knitting. She glanced around when Miku opened the door, face twisted into a scowl. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. "What do you want?" she spat, and for a moment she looked nothing like the noble lady she claimed to be. She was unkempt, unruly and extremely unattractive, and Miku decided that there would be no way she could ever see Anastasia as even remotely pretty again, not after seeing her in this dishevelled state. Her brown hair was messy – she clearly had not bothered to brush her hair upon waking. Crust from dried tears covered her face, and her nose was slightly red and runny. Miku wasn't sure if she looked more disgusting or pitiful.

"I couldn't help but overhear what happened last night," she said carefully, approaching the girl. Anastasia, upon noticing her coming nearer, flung one of the things she was holding at her – Miku sidestepped, narrowly dodging a knitting needle. "Of course, it's a terrible shame that the lord chose Lucinda. We all know that you, as the eldest, should be the first to marry, and that of course you are much more graceful and elegant than Lucinda is," she had always been an excellent liar.

Anastasia's face was still contorted into a grimace. "I do not need your flattery. I did not love him. I had only met him twice before tonight's ball, and that was only because Mother arranged for us to meet. But how dare he spurn me in front of all the guests at the ball…!" Anastasia must have been still considerably upset to show any sign of distress in front of Miku. "How dare he tell me that he is interested in another woman from my family…this is why I never told Lucinda," she snarled, lips drawing back from her teeth. "I knew that insufferable brat would simply mock me and try to seduce my husband-to-be if she knew I actually had a fiancé. She detests me so – but oh, who would have thought that even with my precautions, she still triumphed over me for my fiancé's affections?" she cried. "She gets anything she wants, being the spoilt brat she is, whereas I slave away for nothing!"

Miku honestly failed to see how Anastasia slaved away for _anything_ , but chose not to speak her opinion. "Well, I do understand," she murmured, coming a little closer – the dishevelled girl was staring at the wall, and Miku was no longer sure if she was really aware of her presence or not. "So I brewed some tea. It is good for relieving stress. It will calm you and help you to relax," she placed the tray on the bedside table, holding out a glass for Anastasia. "It will help you," she repeated.

Suddenly, Anastasia lunged out, grabbing the cup from Miku's hands. Abruptly, she drained the dark brown contents, then tossed the empty cup at the opposite wall. The cup broke, shattering into tiny fragments. "I drank it," she snapped. "Now stop bothering me and leave me alone. Don't forget to clean that up – I'm going to take a nap now, and I want to see the broken pieces all gone before I wake up," with that warning, she set aside her knitting and lay down on her bed, curling up and turning away from her. Miku let the smile drop from her face, picked up the tray with the last cup of tea and walked out of the room, wishing she could slam the door but not wanting to wake Anastasia up. She would not clean up the broken pieces. Anastasia could do that by herself.

Finally, she only had her stepmother to contend with. She went down the passageway to the very last door and knocked, awaiting her stepmother's reply. When she heard nothing, she pushed the door open and saw that her stepmother was already fast asleep in bed, still in her daytime wear. Clearly, handling Anastasia while she was being moody was exhausting enough to send her stepmother right to sleep. Thankful that she didn't have to talk to the woman, who was too perceptive for her liking, she set the cup of tea on the bedside table and hoped that when the woman woke up, she would just drink the sedative tea and go right back to bed. Miku wanted to have as much time as possible at the ball.

All her tea given, she decided to make one last check on all three women before she started her preparations – she wanted them to be as deeply asleep as possible, so that she would not be interrupted while she bathed or otherwise got ready. Lucinda and Anastasia were both fast asleep when she checked their rooms, and she left her stepmother's room alone since she had been there the most recently. Satisfied that they were all out cold, she went up to the shared bathroom on the second floor – it was not as pleasant as Lucinda's bathroom, but it would do the job of cleaning her perfectly well.

Then she would dress herself up as best as she could and depart for the final night. She was quite excited – tonight, she would wear her loveliest dress, and she was eager to see what she would look like in it. The events of the third night should be quite interesting, since it was the final night of the ball. She wondered what sort of grand finale the prince had in store for all his guests, and wondered whether tonight, she would finally be able to receive a marriage proposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sedative properties of herbs have been greatly exaggerated here. While valerian and passionflower are strong natural sedatives, and lavender and chamomile are relaxants which help to soothe anxiety and promote good rest, a herbal infusion made from these should not induce immediate drowsiness - only chemicals are able to cause instant unconsciousness. Additionally, herbs are not completely safe and it is always recommended to talk to your doctor or an experienced herbalist before using natural herbal remedies to combat insomnia.


End file.
